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woollypoison · 2 days ago

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Spiral

male reader x Giselle a/n: spoilers, but this story contains topics such as death and grief. Word count: 19k

You owe your life to Giselle. This is not an exaggeration. This is also not a metaphor. This is not even some poetic way she saved you—though it will end up that way too. No, this is fact.

There’s a loud, wet plop that reverberates from your attic bedroom, to the stairs below it, into the kitchen and finally stops near the front door as Giselle releases the head of your cock from her plump and peach colored lips, her cheeks hollowed out to make the noise reach every corner of the house it previously was never allowed to.

“I’ve always wanted to try that,“ Giselle giggles, her bright pink hair falling over one eye as she tilts and looks up at you with a gaze that claims this was somehow the most important task at hand and she just had an obligation to find out. It wasn't and she didn't.

If the promise you made was anything to go by, that honor would be bestowed upon studying for your midterms. And if it makes any difference, you did study at first, you really did. It started with you on your bed, reviewing your notes in between peeks at your girlfriend. Giselle at her desk—your desk, actually, but when she was here, it was hers, like everything you owned—lazily swiping a highlighter across her paper, making it very clear she had no interest at all in the economy of post-war Europe.

In your defense, you were still just on your bed. It was Giselle who was now lying between your legs, her hand softly clamping the base of your cock, resting her cheek against the inside of your thigh, looking up at you like you are the most interesting thing in the world.

You’re not.

You’re just some guy who told his parents he couldn’t come along on the Disneyland trip because he had to study. “You’re staring.” She interrupts your self-indulgent train of thought.

“I was just thinking about how I gave up Disneyland for this.”

She raises her eyebrows, feigned shock playing at her face before she stifles a grin you can’t help but catch. “Wow,�� she lilts through a chuckle. Giselle has this way of making her eyes bigger than what you could possibly take in, and her mouth small and pouty which conjured a magnetic attraction that kept pulling you towards her in a way none of your physics books could explain whenever she was acting mock-offended. Mock-wounded, even.

A small gap between her lips allows hot breath to escape and hit you where it burns, and she has the audacity to let the grip she’s maintained on you soften, those eyes professing innocence and claiming she’s not currently casting a spell on you from which there is no escape.

“You gave up Disneyland for this?” she repeats, and her voice is all incredulous scandal and disbelief, making her out to be some second-rate plastic junk prize at a carnival and not the single greatest thing to ever happen to you.

You sigh, succumbing to her spell with an arm over your eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly why I stayed. It was your idea in the first place.”

“Oh, I know why you stayed,” she purrs, the weight of her chin pressing into your thigh as she makes herself comfortable, her soft hand squeezing a little tighter and then not anymore, “but I still want to hear you say it.”

“Do you?”

Her grip tightens, your life in her hands.

Your breath catches.

She smiles.

“Please?”

Fucking hell.

Your head drops back against the aptly named headboard, your eyes open peering at the love of your life from a tiny gap beneath your arm. “Because you’re here, and we can be as loud as we want.”

She hums, pleased, pressing a kiss against the very tip of your dick. “Good answer.”

She’s keeping you upright, slow kisses trailing their way down your shaft before you break the spell and foolishly interrupt her. “I still don’t get why you’d even pretend to be shocked.”

“Because it’s Disneyland.” she says in between kisses, like that explains anything. It only raises more questions she’s already giving an answer too, slowing the pace of your pleasure, which you now realise was a stupid mistake. “It’s Mickey Mouse, overpriced churros, dry turkey legs, pirates and ghosts and superheroes and some dumb mountain that everyone pretends is a real landmark.”

With a raised brow, “Space Mountain?”

“Splash Mountain.”

You snort. Admittedly, you wanted to be moaning (as loud as you want, mind you) right now, but this was your own doing and you might as well make the most out of it. “They closed it.”

Giselle gasps, not a shred of feign in her shock, genuinely scandalized, and for a moment, you forget she still has a hand wrapped tightly around your cock.

…Almost.

Because now she’s sitting up, straddling your thighs, planting her hands on your chest like she’s rock climbing and you’re her anchor, staring down at you with nothing short of betrayal in her eyes.

“They fucking what?”

“Yeah, they closed it,” you repeat, trying very, very hard to not be distracted by the fact that she’s fully naked, fully on top of you, and somehow infinitely more interested in Disneyland’s performative politics than your dick.

“For what?” she demands out of you, her nails digging into your flesh as if you made the call.

You laugh, partly because you can’t believe that it was Splash Mountain that cockblocked you, and partly because you’re helpless to do anything else in front of her. “I’m not sure, I think it was something about racism—”

“Oh, so now they care—”

See, when she’s getting all huffy and puffy, there is something about her waist that suddenly becomes irresistibly grabbable. So you do, and you flip her back onto the bed, changing places and slotting your head between her thighs, effectively shutting her up.

Or at least, for a second.

But Giselle is nothing if not a menace, and she immediately recovers, her hands finding their rightful place in your hair, her thighs pressing into your shoulders as she whispers “Does this mean we’re making our own splash mountain?”

This deserves a groan. “That is literally the worst thing you’ve ever fucking said.”

But you’re still beneath her, staring at her face—a little upset you’re not fucking it but more than happy to let her fuck yours—and when her tongue slightly protrudes between her lips, licking the top first and then the bottom with her eyes fluttering as if they’re spelling the Morse code for “Fuck me,” you can’t help but indulge.

You plant exactly one soft kiss on the inside of her thigh, no more and no less. Her whole body twitches under the contact.

Giselle is beaming.

It’s not the previously worn grin, not the giggly, mischievous, I-just-did-something-chaotic smile. No, this one is worse. This one is far, far worse for you. It’s all teeth, all dimples, all radiant, glowing, pure lovesick joy. It's hard to find a word other than the given, irresistible.

You’ve barely done anything yet, but her eyes are already glassy, her breaths loud and rhythmic, and she’s looking at you with so much goddamn love that it feels like standing too close to the fucking sun. And you give her the same look back, because how could you not?

“I can’t believe you,” she sighs, dreamy, high off of nothing but you.

She’s all yours, bucking her hips into you, surrendering to your touch. You just tighten your grip on her waist, locking her down. “I haven’t even done anything yet?”

“Oh, you know what you’re doing,” she accuses, and she meant to sound annoyed, but her breath halts and hitches halfway through her emphasis on the ‘know’, betraying her, because the truth is that she doesn’t mind at all. The beautiful truth is that she’s hopeless about you, and she knows you know it.

You can’t help it— her grin is infectious, and suddenly you’re beaming too. It’s true what they say about becoming more like each other once you love someone. With that pure lovesick joy, you lean down, letting your tongue barely graze her slit as it finds its mark. You place it right under her clit, and give one brazen swipe upwards before you pull back, making her whine—actually, physically whine—and the sound goes straight to your head like the cheap liquor you are bound to steal from your parents cabinet.

“I’ve always wanted to try that,” you speak softly, throwing her own words back at her, hot breath crashing into Giselle’s sensitivity causing her thighs to tense up against you.

She groans, she tugs on your hair—a punishment you know you deserve—and this time around, succeeds in addressing you as the most annoying person on planet Earth. “Oh my god, I hate you,” she grunts, pushing her hips up against your mouth like punctuation.

“No, you don’t,” you say, without a shred of doubt, tightening your grip on her hips, keeping her exactly where you want her.

Before giving her another chance at a comeback, you dive back in, a lot less reserved this time, planting a slow kiss against her folds.

“No,” she agrees, her nails scraping against your scalp as they curl in your hair, tugging your closer. “I really, really don’t.”

Your tongue responded instinctively to her admission, flattening against her slick folds, slow strokes highlighting every sensitive treasure spot like it's your first time discovering her.

Giselle is intoxicating. A drug that dissolves on your tongue, a spell too sweet to break, a firework that you can’t tear your eyes away from. Her sweaty scent fogs up your head, her taste coating your tongue and lingering there, her hands clutching at you tighter in response to every filthy thing you do to her. Every sound, every twitch, every one of your senses—overwhelmed. She’s got you, and fuck, you’re letting her have you too.

You should be used to her by now. Built up some kind of immunity. But when you sink two fingers inside her dripping cunt, feel her slick against your knuckles, curling up against that perfect spot, and she moans your name—loud, like never before, unmuffled and unrestrained—it's the only sound that makes sense to you anymore.

You freeze.

It’s not hesitation—it’s pure awe.

Her voice is still dancing in your ears, unfiltered and full of affection, louder than either of you had ever allowed before. So used to stifling it with your hands or less savory appendages, but now basking in its unadulterated echoes. And fuck, it’s beautiful.

“Why’d you stop?” Giselle demands, as though you just committed a cardinal sin. You might as well have. Her fingers tangling into your hair, unrelenting, not yanking or guiding—staking her claim on you.

You blink, and you take it all in. Her cheeks, rosy from the blush. Her lips, peach colored and smeared from kissing your cock. Her pupils, wide and hungry, reflect the only thing she wants—you. Everything about her is so fucking beautiful it makes you sick.

“I just wanted to take a moment and appreciate the sounds you’re making.” You murmur, and smirk at the edge of your lips, much to her annoyance.

Her breath halts. Her gaze drops, and then— a scoff. That signature scoff of hers, the one she throws out so nonchalantly when she’s trying to pretend she’s not affected. She clearly is.

“Then you better start working that tongue again before I go mute,” she quips, but the rolling of her hips betrays her. It’s rhythmic, it’s needy, and it’s honest.

With a raised, cocky eyebrow. “Right, that’s why you’re still moving your hips like you’re begging for me to fuck my fingers deeper into you.”

Giselle doesn’t hesitate. She barely ever does. “I don’t beg.”

She’s a wonderful girlfriend, but a terrible liar.

“You do when I make you.”

And right when she’s about to throw something back—something sharp, something clever, something quintessentially Giselle—

Your tongue is on her again. Slow, hooking under her swollen clit, flicking up, before your lips seal around her.

It was that easy. The oncoming verbal onslaught? Gone. The battle of wits? Over.

She gasps—the sound ripping out of her like she wasn’t prepared for it. Her back arches off of the bed, forming a bridge to some goddamn nirvana.

She always has something to say. Something that dares you to keep up. But throughout it all, you love her voice the most when she has nothing at all—when the only thing she can say is your fucking name.

And so you drag it out of her, because fuck, you need to hear that again.

Your fingers fuck into her harder, curling just right, twisting, spreading, relentless. But your tongue? Slow. Cruel. Featherlight flicks. Teasing. Deliberate. The contradiction drives her insane. She chokes on a sound—somewhere between a moan and what she’d never admit is begging—and the way it breaks halfway through makes your cock ache.

“Don’t—” she heaves, pitch rising as she confuses how to beg with how to demand.

She swallows. Tries again.

“Don’t you fucking stop.”

There’s no way you could. Not even when she starts babbling—half words, half nonsense, another half your name, and all desperate for release. Not even when her thighs are quaking, trembling into the side of your head. Not even when her hands have abandoned your hair in favor of gripping the bed sheets, pulling like she means to tear, when her whole body arches off the bed as if trying to ascend towards the pleasure as she chases it.

You feel it.

She’s so fucking close.

It’s in the way she trembles like her legs will give out and the way her thighs clamp tight around your head. Her whole body claiming you in a desperate display of want.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck—” Her voice is all throaty, breathless desperation. "Don't stop. Don’t fucking stop—”

Your fingers drive into her harder, curling inside before pulling back out—”come on, baby, fall for me”—while your tongue twists around her clit, making her spiral out of control.

And she can’t help jerking her hips in response, riding against your face, mindless. She needs it, and she’ll have you give it to her.

“God, you—fuck, you love this, don’t you?” she gasps, desperate laughs, almost delirious, rolling her hips down faster and harder, grinding into your tongue. “Love me—love making me lose my fucking mind on your mouth—”

Yeah. Yeah, you fucking do.

“Look at you.” She’s throbbing at this point, panting rapidly, helpless, but somehow mustering a sharp-edged bite through her heavy-lidded stare. “So fucking desperate to make me cum. You like when I scream for you, huh?”

You groan into her flesh, your response vibrating against her clit, and her volume increases, if that was even possible.

“you—oh fuck—you’re so good—so fucking good— fuck, please—please—”

She’s begging now. Even she couldn’t deny it anymore.

“Say it,” you taunt, breaking away just long enough to look up at her and make her desperate, lips drenched in her. “Tell me how bad you need it, baby.”

“I—I can’t—”

You deliver a sharp, fast stroke with your tongue, lethal precision, just to make her sob.

“Say it.”

“Fuck, I need it—need you, need your tongue, your fucking fingers…I need to cum on your fucking face—”

You bring her over the edge. A heartbeat passes. And then she shatters.

A moan? No, a cry, pours out from deep inside her, high and sharp, louder than anyone has ever screamed on actual Splash Mountain. The walls shake with it. Her hands, aimless, uncontrollable, claw at anything they’re given. Your hair, her own skin, her bedsheets—your bedsheets actually, but we’ve been over this—while her body locks up tight, shakes, then crashes down in wave after wave after fucking wave of pleasure.

And through all of the filthy fucking obscenities she’s belting out—your name.

Fucking screamed.

It travels through you like new life, straight to your cock, straight to the part of your brain that wants to fuck it out of her again.

You don’t stop. You should, but you can’t. Keep attacking her, keep pushing her through it, keep drinking her in like she’s your life support.

She twitches, tries to close her legs—too sensitive, too overwhelmed—but you grip her thighs, keep them spread, keep going, keep her yours. Keep her here.

Until she lifts your head with trembling hands.

“Too much,” she exhales, exhausted, wrecked.

You look up at her, her face half hidden under the mounds of her tits, but clear as day. She’s ruined.

Flushed from chest to cheeks, skin sparkling with sweat against the sun dripping in from the window, lips parted, swollen from biting down. Panting. Her hair’s a beautiful mess, fanned on your pillow and tangled across it, pupils blown up with pleasure.

She looks like an angel.

Like she should have a halo, but you’re just too much of a sinner to see it.

But then—she opens her eyes, lazy, dark, and dangerous, and—

Yeah. No. No halo. She’s just as much a sinner as you.

She commands you with such a soft, saccharine sound, you’ve already agreed before hearing the demands. “You’re not allowed to ever do that to anyone else.”

“As long as I have you, that can be arranged,” you smile back.

She collapses.

The bed creaks beneath her weight, and you can feel the way her whole body unwinds in your hands, still rooted firmly just above her hips. For a moment, it’s quiet. Just the sound of her breathing, getting slower and deeper, full of delicious content.

Giselle pushes her elbows underneath her, pushing her upwards. She hums a slow, peachy sound, as she works through her failing legs. And then, just as lazily, just as hungry—

She pushes you onto your back.

It’s not forceful. It doesn’t have to be.

You let her.

You go willingly.

And the second you hit the bed, she’s hanging over you.

She tilts her head, watching you like she’s debating her next step. Her face inches closer to your cock, her lips purse and then—

She kisses your hip bone instead.

Your breath catches. Another kiss, this time lower, but not yet where you’d die for it.

You resist the urge to buck your hips into her face. Barely, but you manage.

“You know,” she muses so sultry, tracing circles against your thighs with her thumbs. “I think I love you the most when you let me take what I want.”

Crawling over you, straddling your hips, pressing her nude, still-trembling body flush against your own. And fuck, you feel it—your heat against her heat, wetness dripping against your stomach, every inch of her soaked and sensitive and ready to devour.

But she doesn’t sink down onto you. Not yet.

Because she’s got plans for you. You made her beg, and she always returns the favor.

She whispers in your ear. “You’re shaking baby,” and you were so confident you had it under control. “You want it that bad?”

Her lips collide against yours, tongue invading your mouth, like she was hungry for a taste. Hers is like peach, and yours is like her.

When she pulls back, her smirk is heavy-lidded, predatory, wicked. A mixture of spit and her cum connects you two, growing heavy, splitting and falling on your bodies.

“My turn.”

Her hand wraps around the base of your cock. Her grip is firm, teasing, all smug satisfaction.

“You can hold out until I get to taste you, right?” She purrs, her voice dripping with playfulness.

You exhale, your eyes meeting her in a determined gaze, dragging your fingers slowly over the curvature of her hips. “You tell me.”

She hums a questioning tune, unimpressed. She takes her time to get her hand moving, stroking deliberate, unbearably slow, luring you out.

Your breath catches for a frame, and—fuck—you know she caught it.

Her lips curl. Smugness oozing off of her. “Right, I thought so.”

She leans in closer, nibbling softly on your ear, moving down, pressing a slow kiss to your throat that lingers. Then another. Working her way down, her free hand following suit over your stomach, fingers splayed and nails grazing your skin like she’s got all the time in the world to make you squirm.

You know exactly where this is going.

And so does she.

“Giselle.” Your voice is low, buckling.

She smiles against your skin, her teeth grazing your flesh, contemplating a bite. “Yes?”

You narrow your eyes, but she just blinks up at you, a quick flutter of those enchanting eyes, all innocence, like she isn’t also stroking you with a lazy, practiced, perfectly tuned in to you rhythm. Like she isn’t sinking lower and lower into depravity—right where you want her—with every passing second.

She has this glint in her eye. You know it all too well by now, she wants to be teased back, to have you push her buttons. Wants you to get impatient enough to forget how much you love her just enough to handle her a little rougher.

And you do. You let your fingers slip into her vibrantly colored hair, slow, dragging through the strands before coming together with just the slightest bit of force at the roots.

She exhales. Or rather, she pretends it’s just her exhaling.

With a soft, tiny little shudder that you most definitely felt, coupled with a moan she couldn’t help but keep in, your lips curl. “Oh?”

Giselle stops. Her fingers, mind you, still against and around your cock, her face perfectly blank, like you didn’t just catch her falling for you.

“Don’t.”

Your grin widens. “I think you just—”

She glares, her grip tightening in retaliation.

And just to shut you up, she ducks her head, dragging her tongue slow and warm from base to shaft to head of your cock, marking her territory with a line from base to tip.

All of your breath and sound tumbles out of you.

Giselle hums, smugness regained, lips glazing against the tip of your cock as she murmurs, “That’s cute.”

She wanted a little rougher out of you anyways, and you’d indulge, fingers flexing in her hair. Then—slowly, deliberately—you strengthen your grip, not enough to really hurt, but enough to tilt her head back, forcing her to meet your hungry gaze.

She gasps, and then her breath catches. Big eyes, asking you what you’ll do next.

You lean in, voice dripping low and quiet. “You love being my good girl, don’t you?”

And the way she shivers? Fuck.

Her lips part, her thighs squeezing together tight, but she’s too stubborn to say it outright. She won’t let up yet. Instead, she presses closer, hanging her tongue out of her mouth as she presses it against the back of your cock, breath warm and teasing, spit drops dripping down to your balls, one by one.

Your jaw clenches, as does your fist, keeping her in place.

She’s dragging this out on purpose.

You give her a quick yank back, and then push her back against your cock, and you mutter, “You know what I want, baby. Give it to me.”

Her eyes flicker. Sparkle, even.

She swallows, licks her lips, wetting them, and finally speaks softly. Her tone insinuates she already knows what your answer will be.

“Make me.”

And fuck—who could resist pushing her forward? Her mouth enveloping the head of your cock, her tongue swirling around and lapping against you. Her hand pressing down firmly against the base of your cock, and vibrations of her soft moans jolting through your dick.

She seems extra hungry today, leaning into her gagging and groaning, reveling in your fierceness, and right as you were about to test her limits even further—

The sound of metal rapidly vibrating against wood. Your phone on your nightstand. You roll your eyes, but Giselle gives you this look that you’d learned to intuit meant “It could be important?” You don’t let up on Giselle’s throat breaking previously set records, but you take a peek anyways.

It’s your aunt. She’s probably just checking up on you, something not important—not as important as fucking Giselle’s face— so you resolve you’ll call her back.

You put your phone back on your nightstand, and you heard it ring, again.

Weird.

You haven’t cried yet since the news.

Giselle has barely stopped.

It’s morning—you think, it might also be noon, it’s all a blur—but the light creeping into your room unwanted through the window feels wrong. It’s too bright. Too harsh. Like it should’ve dimmed out of respect.

Your phone still lies on your nightstand where you put it yesterday, face down. Turning it over would mean seeing the missed calls, seeing the texts piling up. You can’t touch it. Just keep staring at it like that might change what’s already happened. Like that might stop the jumbled mess of words your brain can still remember, in your aunt’s voice looping over and over in your head, buried in sorrow, barely making sense through the sobs. “A drunk driver—”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t—”

“All—All passed away.”

And a thought you know you shouldn’t have creeps its way in with the others.

“Stay home from the trip, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You resent her for it, if only for a split second. You can’t think like that. But if she didn’t say that, you might have prevented this somehow. Or not have to feel this pain, being with them. Another split second.

No.

Stop.

Where is Giselle anyways? You turn around, and her warmth is missing. She’s not lying next to you. You close your eyes. Try to suppress the thoughts. It doesn’t help.

There’s footsteps outside your door. Slow, hesitant. Followed by a knock, barely more than a tap.

“Are you awake?”

Giselle. Thank God.

You want to answer, but the lump in your throat stops you. She pushes the door open anyway. She’s a fucking mess. Bloodshot eyes with bags to accompany them, and her hair done in a messy bun, loosely pulled together. She’s wearing one of your hoodies—too big for her, sleeves dark from moisture. She looks over at you, your eyes meet, they linger for a moment, and then drop solemnly.

“I made you something to eat,” she says. It sounds hoarse and strained.

You don’t respond. You wish you could.

She’s hesitating before stepping in. Like it would mean stepping into your grief too, and she isn’t sure if you’ll let her.

But she wants to.

She approaches and sits on the edge of the bed, turning towards you and shuffling the plate your direction. Toast and eggs. It smells like food. The smell of food doesn’t smell like something you can shove down your throat right now.

“You should eat,” she tries.

You bit down on the inside of your cheeks. Stare at the plate like it’s an endless tunnel.

Her eyes can’t seem to find yours, seeking the solace of the window instead. She sniffs once, catches herself, and rubs the tip of her nose with the sleeve of your hoodie before exhaling and speaking. “Just a little, okay? Just—just a bite.”

You take the plate, not out of hunger. It’s just the least you owed her after resenting her for a split second. You break off a piece of the toast and chew. It doesn’t even taste like food, and it’s not her fault. You force yourself to swallow anyways.

She’s trying. For you.

And you hate it.

The plate in your hands is too heavy. You put it away on the nightstand, pulling your knees up to your chest and locking them in place with crossed arms. Your lips tremble against your arm, speaking into your skin. The sound is wrecked and exhausted. Fragile, like—fuck, like what? Like life? “You don’t have to be here.”

Her eyes snap to yours, wide and wet.

“Don’t,” she ekes out, her voice breaking on the first vowel. Her lips press together tightly, trembling as they seal away her words. They part slightly as she shakes her head.“Please don’t do that to me.” She sounds raw. Small. Scared of whatever you might reply with it, if you even say anything. Like she thinks she might not survive this conversation.

Maybe you won’t either.

You drag in a breath, but it’s hard. Like the air itself can feel that you don’t really want it there. Like two metal plates pushing together inside your throat, forcing everything out when it needs to go in. Your body fighting against what you’re trying to make it do, like you suddenly got rewired and need to relearn how to breathe, and it’s so fucking frustrating how even breathing requires thinking right now.

Your arms uncross, elbows against knees and hands rubbing into your face. Press the heel of your palm against your eyes until all you see is static, bursts of color mixed with black, a flickering distraction behind your lids. But it doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t shake it loose, doesn’t take away the building pressure you can feel behind your eyes.

Your family is dead.

And you’re still here.

You should say something

That you didn’t mean it. That you’re just—tired, or lost, or whatever the fuck this feeling is that’s twisting your stomach, making everything taste like nothing and the air feel impossible to muscle down. But the words don’t come, and Giselle is still looking at you like you just asked her to push a knife you held to your chest deeper to finish the job.

Her fingers tighten in the fabric of her hoodie—your hoodie, but who fucking cares at this point? You remember her saying she loved it, months ago, attributing it to how it smelled like you.

Now it probably just smells like salt.

“I wasn’t with them.”

Giselle stiffens.

The weight of what you just let out settles between you both. It’s thick, suffocating, harsh and pressing down on your ribs.

It’s impossible to look at her now.

There’s a breath. Not yours. It’s shaky, coming in three tiny bursts of being pulled into her lungs.

A small pause. Then: “No,” she whispers. “You weren’t.”

And it’s not comforting. You both know that. It's not meant to be.

Your family is dead.

You are alive.

Nothing can change that. Nothing can fix it. And maybe worst of all—you need someone to blame. Anybody to take it out on. It can’t even be that piece of shit drunk driver, he had the sense to take himself out with everyone else.

And you realise you owe your life to Giselle.

“If only you didn’t ask me to stay,” the words tumble out of your mouth before you figure out how to stop yourself, “I could have been with them.”

You’re not accusing her.

Not really.

But it still lands like one.

You don’t know how to take the words back, how to unmake the weight they carry, how to make it so you didn’t open your fucking mouth and let them spill out like venom.

But the feeling doesn’t fade. You should have been with them. If you’d just gone on the trip like you were supposed to, you wouldn’t have to feel this. You wouldn’t have to be here.

You wouldn’t have to be.

And once more, for a split second, for a horrible, fleeting split second, you resent her for it.

Because she asked you to stay.

Because she made you stay.

Because if it weren’t for Giselle, you wouldn’t be in this fucking bed, in this fucking house full of memories, swallowing down a piece of fucking toast that tastes like nothing, thinking about how to fucking breathe, while your whole fucking family—

You found someone to blame. And you hate yourself for it.

The thought is barely even there before you shove it down, bury it so deep inside yourself it might as well have never existed, as though if you push hard enough, you can convince yourself you never thought it at all.

But it’s too late.

Giselle sees it. And she’s looking at you like you just drove a jagged knife into her ribs. And maybe you fucking did. And she’d even let you.

She’s having trouble swallowing it all down, her lips parting, and for a second, you think she’s going to say something—but she doesn’t.

Because she doesn’t see you as wrong. She sees you as right. If only she didn’t ask you.

��It’s my fault.”

You can’t help but physically, viscerally recoil from the words.

No.

That’s not true. That’s not what you think, this isn’t that. That’s not what you meant. That’s not—

“If I just hadn’t—” But it’s interrupted by a sharp inhale, like there’s not enough air in the room to speak the words. Her eyes squeeze shut, maybe so she can’t cry, or so she doesn’t need to look at you, knuckles turning white from how hard she’s squeezing down. “If I just didn’t say anything, maybe they wouldn’t have left when they did. Maybe they wouldn’t have been on that road, at that time, in that moment—”

Her breath hitches again. Her hands unclench briefly, only to grasp at her face, fingers pressing down into her skin around her eyes, shaking.

You feel like throwing up.

Because you’re not the only one with a brain that won’t shut up. With thoughts that won’t stop forming, poisoning, curling inside your skull like parasites burrowing into every action you take, every thought you think.

And for the first time since waking up, you turn to look at her.

Really look at her.

She’s a wreck.

Her face is swollen, but her eyes have it worse. They’re puffy, red-rimmed and drained. Her nose is pink, not from the way she likes to do her makeup, but from rubbing it too much with her sleeves, turning it raw, and her lips have bite marks from where she’s been biting down when she wants to say something, but doesn’t know what.

Giselle never looks like this.

She always carries herself with this effortless sort of self-possession, even when she’s being an absolute menace. But right now?

Right now, she looks like she’s barely staying afloat herself.

“Giselle—”

“I took you away from them.”

Her voice cracks.

You whip your head up so fast your vision starts to swim, like gravity itself is pulling you to the same place you’re trying to hide that wretched thought of yours, and fuck, she’s crying again. And she can’t look at you. Won’t meet your eyes. “You resent me.”

You knew she saw it. You knew she fucking felt it, even in that fucking split second before you buried it, before you even had the time to feel ashamed of yourself, that hate yourself, not her.

But hearing her say it out loud is worse.

“You should hate me,” you mutter.

Her eyes open slightly, and her gaze lands somewhere near you. Not ready yet for landing on you. “What?”

You inhale, sharp and shaky, then exhale just as fast, voice low and wrecked.

“You saved my life.”

You think you meant them, but they feel so, so wrong, because nothing about this feels like being saved. Nothing about this feels like anything but a burning car wreckage and shattered glass from every window it broke and the goddamn sound of your aunt’s voice on repeat, over and over, like a twisted song stuck in your head, one which your brain is desperately trying to make you forget the lyrics to.

And Giselle, she just—

She breaks.

Not like the way she’s been breaking since yesterday, tiny fractures, cracks forming, desperate moments but still holding on.

This time, it’s worse.

She makes this sound—this horrible sound—choked, gasping, sobbing like she wasn’t expecting her body to give in, like she’s hurting worse than what she’d thought was possible, like there was still more grief to pull from her that she was sure she locked away, and collapsing into herself, fingernails digging into her skin and you’re not sure if it’s to hurt herself or hold herself close, like she just needs to hold or be held right now before she breaks.

“I wanted you to stay.”

The admission rips out her, raw and violent and sobbing and so full of guilt it makes your heart feel like it turned to ash.

“I wanted you to stay and I’m sorry and you—” Another sob cuts through it all, her sleeve wiping across her face like she could take the feelings with it as well, the noise of her tears and shattering voice being muffled. But you still hear it, still feel it, and hate it, the way it destroys her.

And then, softer.

“I don’t know how I’d survive if you were in that car as well.”

The confession is small. It’s shaky. It’s honest.

“I think about it every second,” she rambles on, there’s no stopping the confession. “If I just had shut my fucking mouth, you could’ve done something, or been there, or at least not have felt like this.”

Her knuckles whiten from straining them too hard, disgust seeping in her voice as she speaks next. “But I’m glad I didn’t. Do you understand what that says about me? It means I can’t even tell if I’m allowed to be grateful that you’re here, because if I am, does that mean I’m glad your family is dead?”

She’s furious with herself, nails tearing at her own skin as if she wants to rid herself of it all, head shaking furiously. “That just makes me a fucking monster.”

And fuck, it’s suddenly so much worse than the weight of her earlier words, worse than it’s my fault, worse than you resent me, worse than the feeling of your own guilt pressing down on your ribs, because Giselle is—

She’s glad you’re here.

She’s glad you lived.

And she hates herself for it.

And you want to tell her—you really fucking do, if only the words would come out—you want to tell her it’s okay.

Or, that it’s not okay, but that she is. That she shouldn’t have to feel like that, that she doesn’t deserve it, that she has no reason or need to carry, she doesn’t have to bear this kind of weight, she didn’t do anything wrong, that she couldn’t have done anything, it’s not her fault, that she’s allowed to be relieved that she still has you because fuck, you’re relieved you still have her too, and it’s fucking selfish and ugly and it makes your stomach churn but you just can’t afford to lose her too, you can’t, you can’t, you fucking can’t—

But you don’t have the energy.

You wish you did. You don’t.

And it just adds another layer of self-loathing.

Because Giselle is falling apart, and you can’t do anything about it.

So you just sit there, motionless, watching her break, breaking with her.

Her sobs keep coming, louder and wrecked by the minute in this quiet room, and they won’t stop, like she can’t stop imagining what it would have been like if you did leave, like she’s trying to fill the space around you with something less suffocating, but it’s still there, under everything, pressing it’s full weight on you.

It makes your whole body feel heavy.

Like it would take too much effort to move. So you don’t.

You just let her cry.

And eventually, eventually, her breath evens out—just slightly, still ragged, still trembling, still fucking unbearable to listen to, but at least she’s not gasping for it anymore.

She sniffles, rubs the sleeve of your hoodie over her face again, sniffs again.

“I’m sorry.”

Like something just punched your heart.

“No,” you rasp, air you didn’t have being forced out. “Don’t be.”

Her hands disappear into her sleeves, clutching the fabric around her hands, her shoulders curl inward like she wants to sink as deep as possible as she can into your hoodie. Her hoodie? She considers it your hoodie. Makes it more special.

She moves. It’s sudden, but careful.

It’s slow and it’s hesitant. Shifting closer over the bed, closing the distance between you two. It’s careful, like she’s testing if it’s okay with you with every inch. As if she’s half-convinced you’ll push her away. It’s silly. You don’t.

It’s all filled with uncertainty. As if the routines and rituals you’ve built up have all vanished. Hesitating before making her way under the covers. Her arms making first contact and her whole body curling up behind them, trying to make herself small enough to fit against you without you noticing, like she’s trying to just be with you even if you can’t take it right now. Because she needs it, and she hopes you do too. Like she’s still afraid she’s not allowed to belong here.

And her face presses against your chest, somewhere you think your heart should be, her arms wrapping around your body, her breath hot and finally some capacity of steady brushing against your skin.

She doesn’t speak.

She doesn’t have to.

She just holds on.

And you let her. Your arms wrap around her.

Your eyes slip shut, and for a second, you just breathe her in.

But then you hear it.

A voice.

Not Giselle’s.

Not yours either.

His.

“You sure you won’t get too distracted if she stays over?”

Your whole body tenses.

Giselle stiffens slightly against you, feeling it.

Dad.

It’s a fucking disaster, and if you weren’t so desperate to hear his voice, you’d force this memory away in a heartbeat.

You were standing in the driveway as your parents were already packing everything for their trip. Your brother was already burning through his Switch battery on the backseat, letting the world move around him, and your mom was inside packing everything she was sure your dad was forgetting.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, champ,” he’d said, clapping his giant hand on your shoulder with that booming voice of his barely avoiding leaving a ringing sound in your ears. ”Just make sure to actually get some studying done. If you fail your tests, you’re not even getting an invitation for the next family trip.”

You’d rolled your eyes. Smirked at him, full of confidence. “When have you ever known me to fail?”

His laugh had been loud, warm.

“Don’t act all too confident, we all know Giselle takes care of you.”

And then he’d grinned.

“But for what it’s worth?”

A pause.

A squeeze of your shoulder.

“I feel better knowing you’ll have her.”

You inhale, but it’s the kind that preludes tears.

Giselle presses closer.

And for the first time in twenty-four hours—

Your eyes burn.

You can’t tell how long it’s been since Giselle crawled into your arms.

If you were asked, you might even say it’s been forever.

There’s only her, warm and small, slotted in your arms, curled up against you and unrelenting in her grip, like she’s afraid you might cease to be if she lets go. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you would. Maybe she’s the only thing keeping you here, really here, and not slipping into some void you fear you might never escape from.

So your arms tighten around her. It’s instinct more than anything. It’s just, her body is so familiar, should be so comfortably familiar—but this time is different.

You’ve pulled her close a thousand times before. Grabbed her by her waist when she got all huffy and puffy, pinned her against a well or closed door or anything she’d let you, tugged her onto your lap, mouth on her neck, her laugh energizing you and spurring you on. It’s always been a pull with her, a want, a need.

This time, it’s a quiet, desperate hold.

And just like her, you grip tighter, arms holding her as close as space allows, so that you can’t loosen your grip even a little, lest she slip through your arms just like everything else.

She begins to inhale, preparing for something, breaking the quiet trance you’ve been slumbering in. Her warm breath burns against your collarbone.

“I was scared,” she whispers.

Your eyes close. “I’m sorry.”

Her body twists, nudging into you, softer, her grip loosening but not letting any space form through it. “Don’t be. I thought—” The words start spilling out, her eyes pointed upwards searching solace in your face before she regathers herself and tries again. “I really thought you were going to push me away.”

Hearing her voice those concerns makes the pit of your stomach turn upside down. “I need you. I couldn’t.”

“You didn’t,” she exhales, hesitation making the air come out in stutters. There’s not a lot of her signature confidence present, as if she’s scared that saying it out loud would jinx it. “But you—you barely even looked at me. And I—I Didn’t know. I didn’t know if you wanted me—wanted me here or if you just—” she shakes her against you feverishly. “I didn’t know.”

You can’t blame her. You haven’t been sure what you want yourself.

You did pull away. Told her she shouldn’t be here. What the fuck was that even about?

It wasn’t because you didn’t want her here. Not because you don’t need her.

It’s the fucking weight of all of this—the sheer, unbearable fucking weight of existing in a world without them—felt like it would be easier to carry alone. Or easier to escape if you were alone.

Deep breaths. Slow breaths. You press your lips to the top of her head.

“I love you,” you murmur.

She doesn’t respond, pausing. She probably doesn’t know what you want from her, again.

“I know you know that. But I need you to hear it. So you know.” Your hand presses onto the small of her back, and she gives in. It’s not rough, not hard, not tight, but just enough that she knows you mean it. “I love you. You’re the only one I have left that I can say that too.I can’t bear the fucking thought of losing you too.”

Her shoulders tremble and she pushes her away from your chest, just enough to be able to look in your eyes. “You won’t.”

You want to believe her. God, you want to believe her.

But you thought your parents were permanent, too. Or at least more permanent than this? Thought your little brother would be stealing your shit until you left the house, and then some. Thought there would always be another Christmas, another birthday, another vacation, another tomorrow.

Your fingers rest on the back of her head, pulling her closer back against her chest, against your heartbeat.

“I didn’t tell them I loved them.”

She stills, like a toy that ran out of batteries.

“My dad said it before they left. I didn’t say it back. Felt too embarrassed or something. I just shrugged it off and said I’ll see them later.”

Giselle doesn’t just move—she reaches for you.

Her hands don’t hesitate anymore. One finds your wrist, fingers curling around it gently, as if chaining the two of you together. The other wraps around you, presses against your back, firm, solid, unrelenting.

Her words are hoarse, muffled, being spoken directly into your chest. “They knew.”

You fall back into not responding. You want to believe they knew.

But it doesn’t fucking matter.

Because later didn’t happen, and later was taking for granted, but it was a fucking lie.

Because some drunk asshole that couldn’t even have the decency to just hit a tree and only punish himself for what he did stole ‘later’ from you.

And now? Your last words to your family weren’t love, weren’t warmth, weren’t anything that mattered.

Just a brush-off. Just something to replace the words you felt too cool to say.

Giselle shudders against, feels the twitch in your muscles as your thoughts go dark and darker. The warmth of her breath is arrhythmic, and you realize she’s crying for you.

Like she’s crawling underneath your shoulders, cracking, holding the weight with you, carrying it when you can’t. And it’s too much, even for her.

Her hands clutch desperately at you, twisting your shirt. “You have to know they knew,” she says, voice cracking every few words. “You have to know that.”

It’s still hard to respond, but she squeezes you tighter anyway. Like she’s forcing it into you.

For a moment, the room is nothing but shallow breaths and the same hum you hear every day of the world moving on outside these walls. It’s sickening.

Then, her voice, breaking the sounds:

“Do you want to talk about it?”

It takes a second to process the question.

Absolutely not. Your arms flex just at the thought of it.

“Like—” She wipes her nose after another sniff, sucks in a trembling breath. “Right now. When you think of them. What’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

Your mind stutters. Because how the fuck are you even supposed to pick one thing when a thousand are racing through the tunnels of your brain? How are you supposed to take an entire lifetime of support, annoyance, respect, frustration, love and compress it into a single moment?

Can you even answer that question?

“He laughed,” you mumble, voice rough like new tires.

Giselle listens. It’s all she does.

“When I asked if you could stay over while they were gone,” you continue, the words seemingly coming out on their own, eyes pointed upwards, the ceiling being the only thing you can stand to look at. “Said he knew I wasn’t actually gonna study. But he’d still feel better knowing you were taking care of me.”

The next sound Giselle let out surely was something new to her—soft, wet. It starts as a laugh from something unexpected, but not because something was funny, because it quickly gets overtaken by a sob.

It’s comforting. It might begin to feel like she really is taking on some of that weight. “He always did that—acted like he was onto me, like he had me all figured out. Said he was much the same when he was my age. Used to say he could read me like a book, cus he wrote the damn thing.” You swallow, not sure if it was even okay to say the next part out loud. “I used to think it was fucking annoying.”

She chuckles this time, and it’s not interrupted with a sob. That sound is a lot more comforting. It’s quiet, it’s breathy, and it’s pulling you back.

You’re shaking, but you wouldn’t have caught it if it wasn’t for Giselle holding onto you as though to hold you in place.

“I think you’re right,” you blow out the air through your nose. “They knew.”

Her fingers run over your back. “Yeah,” she whispers. “They did.”

This wasn’t enough to hold back the pain—not yet. But maybe someday it might become enough.

Giselle fits so perfectly into you, and you shift to allow her more room, for your faces to lay closer. She melts into it.

For the first time since waking up, the air doesn’t struggle to leave or enter your body. Your limbs don’t feel heavy with sorrow. Your brain doesn’t feel like drowning.

Floating.

Stagnant, but being held, and holding on.

Giselle’s body shifts, or twitches? You’re not sure. It feels like she’s about to move, is all. You don’t let her. Not yet.

“Just a little longer,” you murmur.

She shakes her head, forehead rubbing against your chest.

It’s absurd, makes you pull back, struggling to process.

“No,” she says, firmer now. “Not just a little longer.”

She nudges her forehead into your chest, the way she’s done a thousand times before when you’ve said something that got on her nerves. “I’m not leaving. You don’t get to lose me. Ever.”

She snuggles into you, and she stays.

You’ve been drifting in and out of sleep long enough for the sun to hide, Giselle still close. Like she promised.

“Are you up?”

Your eyes peel open slowly. “Mhm.”

“We should go eat.” She says sleepily as her muscles push awake.

You don’t answer this one.

Giselle exhales through her nose, and it’s not the first time she’s said it today. Knowing her, it won’t be the last if you don’t agree. She shifts her weight onto her elbow, tilts her head up at you with pleading brows, and looks at you properly. like she’s measuring whether or not you can handle whatever she’s about to say.

She doesn’t waver though. “We should go downstairs.”

Downstairs. You haven’t left your room yet, since. It’s fucking terrifying, as if stepping outside would only solidify what you already know. Like if stepping outside will make everything collapse. Like you’ll have to face the fact that nothing is waiting for you outside of it except a house full of ghosts.

Giselle must see the way your expression changes. She always has this sharp read on you. Her voice softens. “I know.” She exhales a heavy breath. “But we still have to go.”

We.

Not you.

We.

She stands before you can think of a way to ask her not to. Walks to the door before you can tell her no. Turns the knob and pulls it open, just enough for the familiar orange light to creep its unwelcome way inside. She pauses, waiting.

You really don’t want to go.

But she’s waiting.

And this—this is Giselle. She doesn’t ask for much. It’s for you.

So you move.

The door groans on it hinges like it’s screaming at you that you’re making a mistake. Stupid fucking door.

The hallways are colder than you remember. Colder than it has any right to be. Or maybe you’ve just gotten used to the heat of Giselle pressed against you. Or maybe it’s both.

She’s right behind you. Of course she is. Close enough that you feel her presence like a torch protecting you from the biting winds of winter. You take a step forward, then another, down the stairs that feel too long, too steeped in memory.

The house doesn’t smell like home.

Your feet hit the ground floor, and for a second, you hesitate.

Giselle doesn’t.

She’s right behind you, her fingertips ghosting your back, barely touching, barely there, letting you know she’s there. She’s here, and she’s not trying to push. And that’s enough. So you can keep moving.

The kitchen is dark.

You hesitate before flicking the switch. If you just keep the lights off, you might evade some of the memories. You flick it nonetheless, and the light is too sharp. Too bright. You glance at the fridge, at the magnets holding up old notes and things you can’t bear to take a second look at.

So you don’t.

Giselle steps around you, reaching for a glass. The sound of the cabinet opening, the slight clink of the glass on the counter, the rapid rush of water from the tap—It’s too loud.

“You should drink something,” she says, gentle, full of care, but firm, like she won’t take no for an answer.

You nod once, just to show you’re listening. She watches as you take the glass, lift it to your lips and drink. She nods back, approving, a soft curl in her lips for making progress.

She searches the fridge, the light beaming from inside, before her voice rebounds out from it. “Is there anything you want to eat?”

The answer is nothing, so you tell her exactly that.

She obviously doesn’t accept that. “Come on, just—something easy.”

Your shoulders slump before you answer. “I’m sorry, but I don’t care.”

“I know.” She continues rummaging. “But we have to eat something, right? We can’t just…not.”

So do you, you want to say. Giselle wouldn’t let you turn this around on her though. She never does.

She pulls out something. A leftover container of soup from the fridge—something your mom must have made. Something that feels too good to eat right now. But it won’t stay fresh forever. So might as well still enjoy it while you can. Giselle throws you a half smile upon seeing your reaction to the soup, dumps it into a pot, turning on the stove and heating it up for the both of you.

The smell of it is more than food. It smells like home. Or it used to? It’s all too confusing.

Giselle turns around and leans against the counter, her arms supporting her against it. Waiting for the soup to be ready, before snapping you both back to reality. “The wake is in three days.”

You give her a puzzled look, like you can’t understand how she knows that. You knew it had to happen at some point, but—

“Your aunt came by earlier this morning, when you were still sleeping. She told me to tell you. It’ll take place here.” she explains further, not letting you stew in it.

You haven’t thought about it yet. Not about the wake itself, Not about what it implies. How you’re supposed to stand there all day while people pile on, saying things that won’t matter and offer condolences you don’t want, and then—what?

Bury them?

That’s too much.

Giselle is quiet. She lets the silence go unpunished, the only sound present being the faint bubbling of the soup. And then she moves, grabbing two bowls from the cabinet, keeping her hands busy, keeping herself busy.

And you eat. And you swallow. And you try not to think about how this is the last time you’ll ever taste this soup again.

The house is full.

Not full of ghosts, or stale air or a silence you just can’t seem to break through no matter how hard you try. No.

This is different.

It’s wrong, worse.

There’s too many people, all clad in black, superseding silence with their low murmurs and occasional pitiful glances at you when they think you’re not looking. There’s too many of them. Faces you recognize, but can’t quite place, it’s all too hazy. People that knew your family, come to console themselves by letting you know they feel bad for you. None of them can imagine what you’re feeling anyways. If it were up to you, you wouldn’t be here.

But you are.

And thank fuck, so is Giselle.

She’s hovering around you. Always close. Not yet touching, not yet saying anything. Just—watching. Monitoring. Worried.

You can’t blame her, she should be.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Fuck. If the first time already makes you feel like you want to run, you might as well give up now.

It’s your father’s coworker. You recognize him now. You met him at a barbecue your dad hosted last year, the one where he burned some burgers but kept insisting they were fine, eating them himself. Your mom called him an overgrown child, and your brother almost vomited when he tried eating on himself.

That was only a year ago.

And now—

Now a remnant of that time is standing in front of you, alive and breathing and saying the same meaningless sentence you’re bound to hear a hundred times today.

His hand lands on your shoulder. Grasps it. Too firm. Too much.

He keeps talking, something about ever needing something, but you wouldn’t rely on your dad’s coworker for anything anyway.

And Giselle?

She moves.

Not a lot, mind you. Just a little. Shifting her weight towards you, the slightest brush of her sleeve against your arm, like she’s testing something.

You nod at him. That’s all you can do.

You take a breather. Regain your composure.

Another.

“They were such wonderful people.”

One of your mom’s friends this time. She looks different. Maybe she just looks older. Maybe she’s been crying. Maybe you should care.

Her hands reach for yours, and you almost—almost—pull away.

You really don’t want them touching you like you’re some beacon of grief.

None of them should be touching you.

But you let her fingers wrap around yours, let her squeeze, let her eyes soften like she can even come close to understanding.

She doesn’t.

She can’t.

Your jaw locks. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, feel the skin break, the sharp sting of it preventing the cracks showing on the outside.

And Giselle moves again.

Another shift, another breath that sounds like it might be the start of a sentence, but—nothing. Just some warmth.

She’s hesitating.

She must be doubting if she should step in or not.

You haven’t been exactly clear on whether or not you want her to.

Because you don’t know.

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

How fucked up is that? Way to rub it in.

You don’t even look up for this one.

Just nod. Another nod. That same fucking nod. Like you’re a puppet on string, but broken and only capable of doing one thing.

You don’t even know who just spoke to you and shook your hand. Some neighbor, maybe. Someone who used to wave at your mom in passing. Who smiled at you and your little brother at the grocery store. Someone who only knew your family in the way people know nice things in passing.

Not like you.

Giselle shifts again.

This time, you feel it more than you hear it, grazing the back of her hand against you, momentarily letting her index finger rub against the back of your hand. Like she just wants you to know that she’s there.

Another voice. Another fucking voice.

“They’re in a better place now.”

You exhale so hard it shakes.

You want to ask them where.

Where, exactly, is this better place you keep hearing about? Because they were supposed to be in Disneyland, and now they’re in a fucking coffin.

Your nails dig into your palms, but you just fucking nod again.

And Giselle notices.

You know she does.

Her head tilts slightly, like she’s asking what she needs to do, reading you like she always does, like she’s looking for something she can fix.

She won’t find it.

Another one.

“If you need anything, we’re here for you.”

You hesitate to answer.

Because what you want to say—what you wish you could say—is give them back.

But instead, you say what you don’t mean:

“Thank you.”

It tastes like poison in your mouth.

You wonder if you’d be able to choke and get away from this shit if you said it again.

Giselle’s finger’s twitch, but you pull away instinctively.

“Time heals all wounds.”

Does it? You can’t help but wonder.

Does it really?

Your mother is dead. Your father is dead. Your little brother is dead.

What part of that is supposed to heal?

What part of that is supposed to be supplanted by scar tissue, become something these people don’t pry open? How long do you need to wait before this doesn’t feel like some twisted prank you keep hoping someone is going to reveal the joke to? You want to scream at them how you don’t even want it to heal. How it’ll feel like forgetting them.

“Stay strong.”

Oh, fuck off.

What the hell does that even mean? Stay strong? For what? So they don’t have to see what this is really doing to you? So you can keep nodding, keep shaking hands, keep standing in a room that is shrinking every second?

What if you don’t want to be strong?

What if—

Your breath comes in too fast.

Too shallow.

Like your lungs have forfeited the whole inhale-exhale thing and decided to just go, like a car with no brakes.

“They wouldn’t want you to be sad.”

Oh.

Oh, really?

You bite down so hard on the inside of your cheek you taste copper.

This one almost gets you.

Almost.

Because there’s nothing more insulting than some asshole trying to dictate how you’re supposed to grieve.

Your hands are shaking.

And Giselle moves.

She doesn’t wait for another nail to hit your coffin.

She just—

Her fingers curl tight around your wrist.

And she pulls.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not a question.

It’s not Can we go?

It’s We’re going.

You barely register the floor beneath your feet, barely register the voices still talking, still offering words you want them to keep for themselves, barely register the nod your aunt gives you as if to say “go, I got this,” and who has been running this farce as Giselle drags you through the hall and up the stairs like she’s rescuing you from a burning building.

And maybe she is. It feels like you were burning already, anyways.

She flies up the stairs, you in tow, frantic steps barely avoiding tumbling down, like she’s racing against the clock and when the countdown hits zero, you’ll explode. Her hand is solid around you, gripping your wrist, offering no escape.

You don’t even bother fighting it, how could you? You can barely control the airflow from and to your lungs, it’s much easier to just go along, much easier than listening to yet another person you haven’t seen since who knows when hammering in the reality of it all.

You can still hear them though.

You can still fucking hear them.

Claw at your ears, but you can still hear them, even as Giselle throws open your bedroom door and pulls you inside, you can still feel their words pressing down on you and—she slams the door shut behind you. The sound explodes, it breaks all thought, it locks you up in the four walls of your room, it shuts everything up.

But it’s only for a second. Because there is now a silence that is threatening to become the norm looming over you.

She locks the door. No more intruders allowed. Nobody gets to invade your head anymore.

Your muscles aren’t responding anymore. Locked in place, cut off from your brain by some invisible scissor.

Held hostage inside your own crumbling body. Standing there, on the precipice of destruction, something brewing in the core of your body that you can’t even begin to know how to stop.

And Giselle—Giselle is watching you, looking for the same answer you’re searching for. Her own chest struggling to keep up with everything. With herself, with you, how to prevent what’s happening to you.

And she moves.

You can’t stop it. Her hands find you, clutching at your chest, palms connecting with your shoulders, pushing, struggling, forcing you back, down onto the bed, second guessing herself every inch but still going forward like she’s being driven by nothing but instinct.

She’s still struggling to breathe. Your muscles are barely listening to you again. You’re both unsure of what’s happening. You’ve been pushed down onto the bed, just barely supporting your upper body on your elbows to meet Giselle.

She straddles your lap like she used to do all the time. Hands no longer pushing but bundling up the fabric of your dress shirt at the shoulders, the fabric of her own black dress hitching up around her thighs.

And you peek at what’s underneath.

It’s reflexive. And you can’t believe yourself.

In this situation?

“Giselle—”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

It’s in the process of breaking. It’s desperate. It’s a plea to forgive her that she doesn’t have the perfect answer. It’s fucking honest, accentuated by the swelling of her tears in the corners of her eyes, but held back enough to refuse falling.

It feels like it took away a small part of the blockade in your throat preventing you from breathing.

Carved a little tunnel in there that allowed you to do what you know your body should be able to, even at diminished efficiency.

She crashes into you.

Her full body leaning against you, being supported by you, your lips attaching to each other for the first time in what feels like years. There’s nothing soft about it, nothing careful. It’s desperate, she’s desperate, messy. It’s fucking shattering. Teeth clumsily tapping, your breath mixing, her hands nearly tearing the fabric near your shoulders, yours clutching at your bedsheets—or were they hers now? Doesn’t matter, clutching as though bracing for impact.

Your mouths disconnect, and Giselle drops her head, hiding. Her whole body shifts in your lap, hips pressing closer with each desperate roll—and fuck, it’s like you’re being resuscitated, air forcefully fed into your lungs you didn’t know you desperately needed.

Your hands leave the bed as you straighten your back, grounding yourself in the skin of her hips, tightening, letting her know you’re there.

And her head shoots up, your eyes interlocking as she gasps when you realize—

She’s shaking.

Not much. Just a little. So small, you’re surprised you picked it up. Just barely enough to feel it. But you felt it. Only you know her well enough to pick up on it.

And that’s the final breath of air you needed pushed into your lungs.

Because she’s not just doing this for you.

She needs this, too.

Giselle needs you.

This is the same Giselle who owns everything you own, who teases you, taunts you, makes you flip the script on her because she’s just so desperate for your attention.

This is the same Giselle who you’ve touched before, held hands with before, kissed before, fell asleep with while watching a movie before, fucked before.

Her heat is undeniable, burning against you and you can feel it—fucking flooding your mind with thoughts of every time you plunged your cock deep inside her. She’s grinding against you, her eyes searching for clues on your face to tell her if it feels good. But she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t restrain herself, she wants you, doesn’t ask if this is okay. She has no choice. Because it has to be.

Because if she can’t even do this, if her putting her whole body on the line doesn’t let her reach you—then what?

You wince, your body reacting to her. “Giselle, I—”

“This is all I could think to do.” It cuts you off. She responds too fast, like she’s afraid to hear what you would say, too fast, just to keep some kind of control over the situation. “You looked so in pain, like you were about to do something you’d regret, I just—” The words tumbled out, even faster, stumbling over themselves, her eyes darting from left to right, searching for something, anything. And then she looks at you.

Right at you.

Deep inhale. Shaky exhale. Her forehead pressing against yours as her eyes close. “I need you to be here.”

“I am—” You begin to claim, but before you even have the chance to convince yourself, let alone her, she interjects again.

“I love you.” Her hands loosen their grip on your shirt, only to grip even tighter onto the flesh of your shoulders. “I know you think you know. But I need you to hear it. Really hear it. I need to know that you know. That I love you.”

And you’re at the precipice. All you need to do to just feel a bit of comfort is respond to her. Just tell her that you know, or that you love her too, and maybe cry in her arms, and you’ll feel just a little bit better, it should be that easy.

But you’re silent. Just, rotting.

As if taking this final step is too much. It’s easier to just rot. If you let her in any more, it will just hurt even more when she’s taken away from you.

Her grip falters. The strength in her fingers fades, barely lingering on your shoulders before her hands slip down entirely. She exhales sharply, her face dropping for a second, and you hear it—fabric shifting, the quiet rustle of her sleeve dragging against her cheek. Wiping away tears? You don’t look. You don’t want to know.

Her head snaps back up.

She’s glowering.

Not the desperate, pleading look you were expecting. Not soft, not sad. Her whole body is trembling.

“You fucking suck right now.”

Right, you suck right now. Wait. What?

It makes you blink. Your head jolts back, and two more blinks follow it.

Your eyebrows pull together, and she sees it—the first real fucking sign of life from you since this whole thing began.

“You know,” You begin, a scoff interrupting you. “Pointing out that I suck doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“It’s not supposed to.”

Her response is quick, instinctive, decisive as to not let you cypher these emotions away again.

She leans in, foreheads mere atoms apart.

“It’s supposed to make you mad.”

Her head pulls back again, but in the blink of an eye smashes it back against your forehead, a clumsy headbutt, the surprise more shocking than the pain but it—

“I fucking love you!”

And you finally got mad. Like the pain had pierced through any fog your head had built up inside, and you could finally see color again. As if your brain was set to the wrong TV settings, showing every channel in monochrome, but a good smack to the side fixed it and you could finally drink in the vibrancy on display. So you could look at Giselle. Really, look at her. Her bright pink hair, the color slightly faded from washing it with her shitty shampoo—your shampoo actually, hers was specifically made to not let the color of her hair dye fade. Her kiss-swollen lips, peach-colored with little dents in them from where she bit down too hard. Her eyes colored like afternoon sunlight shining through a glass of whiskey you were sure to have stolen from your parents cabinet, looking at you with such frustration that you almost expected her to headbutt you again.

And how fucking dare she.

“That fucking hurt.”

Giselle’s palm presses against her forehead, rotating and rubbing against it with her eyes squeezed tight, a grunt escaping her as she replies. “Yeah? Well, it hurt me too, you idiot.”

She removes her hand and checks for blood, staring you down and tilting her head, assessing you. “Should’ve hit you harder.”

“Excuse me?”

She leans in, her hot breath pushing into you. “If that’s what it took to get you out of your own fucking head, I should’ve put my whole back into it.”

Your hands fly up, grabbing onto her hips, holding her down against you, body reacting before your mind can catch up, as if she has to pay for what she did. As if she owes you some kind of apology for not letting you sit under your own self-imposed ceiling of sorrow. As if you just fucking need her.

And Giselle pushes back.

Teeth catching your lower lip, stinging, sharp and sweet, filled with promise. She pulls as far as you’re willing to give, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel it, enough to make you want her lips, enough to make your pulse beat in your neck when she finally lets go—

She doesn’t even give you a chance to recover.

Because the second she releases you, her lips claim yours.

Messy, hot, urgent, familiar, undoubtedly Giselle.

“There you are,” she breathes into your mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” is all the verbal response you give her, your hands grasping at the fabric of her dress with an intense fervor you were sure to have lost, pushing, pulling, twisting, anything to make it be less on her.

“Jesus,” she recoils, but she takes no steps to stop you. Instead, she pushes back, her own hands having a similar battle with the front of your shirt, desperately fumbling with the buttons.

And you don’t even realize the force you're putting out until you hear the sharp sound of fabric tearing.

Her dress.

You fucking ripped it.

Her eyes go wide, her hands stop fumbling with your buttons, and she sucks in a sharp breath.

“Oh,” she breathes out.

Your grip tightens. You feel bad about it, or at least you know you should, but right now, you’re barely holding back from ripping the full fucking thing off her.

“You will be buying me a new one.” She glares at you, hands curled into the torn fabric at her side. She watches you wince, but there’s no sympathy in her face. It’s more like she’s processing—realizing at the exact same time you are just how much this is turning her on. “So don’t stop now,” she tells you, “tear me apart.”

The sound it makes is thrilling. The fabric gives, but not without putting up a fight, resisting enough that when it finally gives way, it’s a violent thing. The rip reverberates in the room, splitting apart from her side. The dress ceases to be a dress—just a mess of torn fabric clinging uselessly to her skin before sliding down, slipping away.

And Giselle fucking melts into you, reduced to nothing but matching black underwear, forearms pressing up into your chest, her hips sliding, rolling down, coating your bulge with her wet through her panties like she’s desperate to let you ruin her. She is as much a mess as you are, failing at letting you control the pace, just as desperate to feel all of you.

It’s exhilarating. You might have to start investing in cheap, flimsy dresses for Giselle, just so you have an excuse to rip them off of her again. Because the effect it’s having on you, let alone her, is something you’d let ruin you financially.

“All that whining about your dress,” you taunt, that hint of bite returning to your voice, “but you’re dripping onto my pants like you want me to rip those off too.”

“I can’t help it’s fucking hot,” she mumbles.

Her head tilts, looking up at you, fast and desperate, like she needs to get her mouth on you before you even know what she’s doing. Her hands, still shaking with adrenaline, grip onto your shirt and keep you close, using it as leverage as she pulls herself up and crashes her lips against the curve of your neck.

You flinch, your muscles tensing up against her assault, and she feels it, her arms refusing to give even an inch, doubling down. Lips parting, tongue taking first contact just to tease before retreating, sucking hard on your skin, like she’s educating you on what the punishment is and will be for torn dresses. The pressure is immediate, bruising, and you lean into it, her breath hot against your skin as she works at you.

Pain melts into pleasure, sharp stings of heat spurring you, your hands finding refuge on her supple ass, kneading and grasping, in turn spurring her on even more.

She moans against you—soft, drawn out, almost involuntary, like she wasn’t expecting this to turn her on so much. It’s impossible to ignore, vibrating into your skin, traveling directly up your spinal cord and sucker punching all of your neurons simultaneously with the sheer fucking audacity of her.

She pulls back slightly, just to admire her work, panting breaths exhaling against the wet, oversensitive mark of her territory left behind. Her tongue grazes the spot again, teasing, curving upwards against the fresh bruise she just made, before a single hum delivers the haymaker—smug, pleased and starving for more.

“You are so fucking impatient,” you stammer out pushing her away from your neck, hands firmly on her shoulders to keep her where she’s forced to look at you.

And she looks like she’s going to break any minute, her eyes big and pleading, already a prelude to her next attack. “What, you’re not going to make me say please, are you?”

Fucking hell.

You allow yourself one incredulous chuckle before advancing, one hand curving around her back, pinching the hook and eye clasp of her bra together before releasing it, causing it to drop into her lap still tangled around her arms, where your other hand already reached cupping her where she’s wet, palm pressing against the skin above her cunt, fingers hovering over her sensitives.

She gasps, submitting to your touch, putting up no fight at all. And she stops. And so do you. Her pupils, wide and hungry, reflecting the only thing she needs—you, again. Her heat begging you to envelop your cock. And her fucking tits—bare, soft, perfect. Her nipples are stiff, whether from cool air or sheer anticipation—you’d bet on the latter— begging to be touched, sucked, bitten, made yours. She arches her back ever so slightly, like she’s offering them to you without the indignity of pleading. Because she knows she would if you asked. It’s better to just give in already.

She is a fucking vision, the kind you could only experience at moments that blur the line between reality and fiction. The kind that demands you act before it vanishes.

So fucking beautiful it still makes you sick.

“You’re looking at me like you just realized you’re about to fuck me,” she says, her voice shaking but a smirk letting her keep some semblance of control.

“Only if you say please.”

She doesn’t hesitate. She pouts. Her eyes pull you in.

“Please fuck me?” she pleads, incriminating herself in your little trap willingly.

She’s brazen, enthusiastic and about to be rewarded for it. Breaking eye-contact from this point onwards would be considered taboo, as your fingers slide the last barrier between you and her velvety heat to the side for access, letting the rest of her panties unmoved, hugging and squeezing her hips.

At the same time, she tugs the remaining straps of her bra down her arms, letting the fabric fall away entirely, leaving her completely exposed above you. Giselle was never embarrassed, never even a little bit shy. No, even now, even like this, she keeps that fucking fire burning on alcohol in her eyes, daring you to take what’s yours.

You slip into her soaked heat, and—fuck—she’s already so wet. So fucking ready for you. No teasing, no hesitation, just yours for the taking.

Giselle gasps, her whole body stretching and flexing as two fingers push inside her, stretching her open for you, pressing into the cunt she’s been grinding against you with no shame. Fuck giving her time to adjust. You curl your fingers, rolling them into her, against the spot that makes her shake, makes her lose her fucking mind.

“Oh—”

It’s the oboe playing the A note before the symphony she’s about to perform. But you don’t give her time for the tuning of all the other instruments.

She sways forward, her body being pulled into yours without her permission, a slave to her instincts. Her hands fly to the buttons of your shirt, but the poor girl is shaking too much to do anything useful. “Fucking—” She struggles, losing coordination, head swaying and eyes squinting to focus to no avail. “Get this—fucking thing—off—”

There’s a pop and a dink. A button flies off, bouncing against the floor. She doesn’t flinch, neither do you. Another one soon follows.

“Jesus, you’re ruining my shirt,” you taunt, but you don’t stop her. If anything, this color of desperation looks nice on her.

“You ruined my—fuck—my dress first,” she protests. “If you’ve got—”

She’s not wrong, but you’re not about to let her be right. You flick your thumb over her clit, slow and precise, just the way she loves it, just to feel her pulse against you.

She opens her mouth to retry what she was snapping back despite your little trick, but—

You had another up your sleeve.

Your other hand asserts itself on her tits, fingers spreading their domain over the soft flesh of her breast before closing in, pinching at her nipple, tugging just enough to get her to forget. Just enough to see her reaction.

Her back arches into your touch, lips parting wider with disbelief, breath coming in bursts that sting. Her face is a masterpiece of desperation, eyebrows pooling at the center, eyes wide and pleading, her whole body craving what you’re giving.

And still, she continues fighting it.

“Just you—oh my god—” she manages, but you’re sure it would have been more coherent if she wasn’t bucking her hips into you trying to fuck herself faster on your fingers.

“You can either finish that sentence,” you interject, thumb circling her clit slowly, “or you can come. But you’ve gotta pick one.”

She’s gasping, faltering, having vocabulary erased from her lexicon with each thrust and curl, head falling back but she’s still got this defiant look in her eyes. Like she’s about to hit you with a comeback so good you’ll only find an appropriate response three days later when stepping out of the shower.

But you don’t let her.

“Come on,” you whisper, tone softer now, coaxing her, a stark contrast to the ruthless way your fingers are working her. “Be a good girl for me.”

It’s her favorite thing, and the ace up your sleeve. She snaps without resistance.

Her body locks up, a sharp rendition of your name sings from her lips to your ears, her walls pulsing around your two digits as her orgasm ramps up. She clings to you like someone cast out at sea clings to a lifebuoy, nails ripping what remains of your shirt, mouth open, gasping, unwilling to do anything but surrender, take everything you’re pushing into her.

You don’t stop until she’s a trembling mess, until you’re sure you’ve felt every little muscle spasm, until the aftershocks are making her twitch against you, until she’s nothing but a gasping, pink chaos in your arms.

It’s only then you slow your movements, retreating to her hips, letting her breathe, letting her catch herself where your hands failed.

But she’d be a fool if she thought this was anything but the warm-up.

“Think you’re ready to get your insides stirred now?”

She barely lifts her head, eyes heavy-and-half-lidded, still dazed. Giselle always needs recovery time, and you’ve usually been graceful enough to grant it, but she has that smirk, that little bit of fight, that spark in her eyes left in her.

“I couldn’t possibly say no to you.”

Your grip tightens on her hips. “That’s my good girl,” you hiss.

Her hands fumble at your belt, too clumsy and too shaky to get proper progress like she usually would. Her fingers aren’t the focused and precise instruments they usually are, but that doesn’t stop her from trying. She yanks at the buckle again, flexing her fingers as though that might help.

And you’re just watching. Leaning back. Enjoying the fucking spectacle of her trying and failing to get your cock out. Your fingers tangle into her messy hair, pulling just enough to make her tilt her face up.

Low. Taunting. “Do you need some help?”

Her eyebrows twitch in annoyance, her glare hazy but defiant. “Shut up. I know how to get my boyfriend’s dick out.”

You can’t help but grin. “Yeah? Cause you kind of suck right now.”

Her nostrils flare, and she rips the zipper down with enough force to nearly break the damn thing as well. Your slacks and boxers are shoved down, disposed of in one rough motion.

And then she freezes. Her hands glued to your thighs for support. Her breath hitches. Her eyes widen.

“...Okay, what the fuck.”

You blink. “What?”

She tilts her head, fingers wrapping around your cock, testing the weight, the firth, her thumb dragging over the tip before her grip tightens.

“No, like. Actually. Is it bigger than usual?”

A scoff, she can’t be fucking real. “Are you serious?”

“I’m dead fucking serious.” She strokes down your shaft, slow, like she’s gathering data, measuring it to what she remembers.

“Maybe it’s the angle.”

She clicks her tongue like that’s not quite it, tilting her head, still studying you like you’re some kind of science experiment. “Or maybe it’s a rage-induced growth spurt.”

“That is not a thing.”

“Seems like a thing,” she muses.

“It’s not a thing,” you keep asserting.

She circles the head of your dick with her thumb, wiping precum all over it, watching you twitch under her hand. “You seem pretty sure.” “Because I—Jesus, Giselle,” she interrupts you, a quick slide down your shaft sending a jolt up your spine, “because I am sure.”

“Well, I’m gonna pretend it is possible,” she hums, shifting her hips forwards, bucking against you, preparing the base of your cock against her soaking wet cunt, drowning it in her slick with every slow, deliberate and precise roll of her hips.

You feel every bit of it. How ready she is. How warm, how soft, how desperate, how shaky.

You can’t help but tighten your grip on her hips, fingers digging in hard, no intent of ever letting go.

And she’s such a slut for it, the feeling of riding against your dick while your digits dig into her makes her moan, high and breathy, but still contained only to this room.

You can’t let that go unpunished. “You’re still shaking.”

She huffs, daring you to shift your hands to her waist, but she’s gripping your shoulders. “And you’re still talking.”

Her nails make their way down, scratching your chest as she rolls her hips again, slow but insistent, pressing herself against your every inch, teasing, tormenting you both—

“So I guess I need to do a better job,” she puffs, face tilting downwards a little so she can look up at you with a pout. “Let’s see if you can still do the same when these tits you love so much are bouncing in your face.”

She smirks, satisfied, shifting forward, lining herself up above you, her cunt dripping against the tip of your cock, ready—

And then she pushes down.

She sinks on to you, rough and deep, deeper, deeper, until she’s seated in your lap, flush up against you, stuffed fucking full with rage-induced growth.

For a second, neither of you move.

You pulse inside her, feel the way her walls tighten, adjusting, flexing, gripping you like she never wants to let go. The sensation mixes with the way her eyes flutter, unfocused, her hands scratching and digging into your chest, harder and harder like she’s overwhelmed, like she’s processing every inch of you.

She swallows. Tenses her thighs. And she starts moving.

First, it's slow. Rolling. Experimenting what she can handle. She lifts herself up, just a little, and you feel her tremble before she sinks back down. Her and your moans weave into each other.

She does it again. A slow, shaky rhythm, taking you as deep as she fucking can.

And you resist the urge to grip her hips and hold her up, pounding into her until she cries your name to the heavens. For now. Because she’s trembling. Still weak.

She knows it too, but as long as you don’t intervene, she won’t be stopped. She leans in, a soft half-moan half-breath escapes her, her eyes obsessed with you.

“You love this, don’t you? Watching me put on a show for you.”

“Mhm,” you respond, low, throaty, just the way it gets her going.

She smirks, her hands flying into her hair as she lets it cascade over her back, giving you a perfect view of her neckline. “You always get like this when I’m on top. Can’t even pretend to play it cool when my tits are bouncing, can you?”

She’s not wrong. Her tits have a hypnotic quality to them.

Her body moves, slow and deliberate, dragging you back and forth inside her like she’s trying to make clear what you’ve got to lose if you try to play it nonchalantly.

“Just admit it, you’re weak—fuck—weak for my pu—”

She chokes on the last word, her confidence faltering mid sentence as she tries to lift herself, her legs twitching, shaking, muscles threatening to give out. She barely gets halfway up before her thighs tremble violently, still wrecked from her previous orgasm, forcing her to slam back down onto you, her whole body tensing up. It’s quick, and high-pitched. A surprised whimper escapes her throat involuntarily.

You pull back, a face that could only mean to ask her if she wants to find an excuse for that.

She glares up at you, face flushed red instead of its usual shades of pink, panting. “I—” she starts, but her voice shakes.

You help her along, like the loving boyfriend you are. “Having some trouble?” You’re clearly enjoying this, watching her fight against her own body.

And that only pisses her off. Her glare sharpens. “Shut up—” But her legs twitch again, this time not even managing halfway, forcing another stuttered moan out of her.

She’s struggling with the limitations of her own body, huffing in frustration, but not giving up. Her hands grasp your shoulders, and she tries to lift herself up again. In vain. She barely makes it off of you, more of a grinding act, before collapsing onto you with a sharp gasp, staying impaled on your thick cock.

She whimpers another fuck, as her walls clench and flex, forcing her body to do what she wants.

It’s adorable, a sight to revel in. Struggling, mustering all the power she still has left after having most of it fingered out of her. Your hands reaching for her thighs, sweat-slicked, feeling the little movements of muscle on your palm as she forces herself to rise. They tremble violently under her weight before giving out entirely, making her sink back down with a mewl.

Giselle’s cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, equal parts arousal and humiliation. She bites her lip, warring with herself, considering her possible actions, before finally breaking.

“Fine! Will you please fucking help me already?” she yelps, neediness exemplified.

“There we go,” you crow, immensely satisfied. “Was that so hard?”

Your grip tightens around her hips, your whole body surging forward as you take control, flipping her in one swift, fluid motion, her breath leaving her in a sharp gasp as her back hits the mattress and you cage her beneath you.

Her legs are still wrapped around your waist, but you push them up, folding them into her, making sure she feels everything, making sure she knows exactly what she just asked for.

“This is what you wanted?” you challenge, hovering over her quivering body. “Needed me to manhandle you? To hold you down and use you?”

Giselle squirms in your grip, her pupils blow wide with lust and anticipation. “Fuck yes, I need your cock to stretch me open,” she whines, straining to grind her hips against yours.

She’s being so fucking messy right, and if she gets any louder, you are both running the risk of turning this catharsis into the most humiliating moment of your life. In a desperate attempt to shut her up, you lean down, capturing her lips in a needy kiss, tongue twisting into hers, swallowing all her moans directly into your throat. When you finally pull back, you hold still for a moment, giving her an intense stare matched by her expectant gaze.

“I love you,” you tell her, raw honesty shattering the moment. Her eyes blink in shock, clearly expecting something a lot more depraved to have come out of your mouth. “I fucking love you so much, Giselle. But if you don’t control your volume, you’re going to ruin this.”

Her eyes go wide, her eyebrows shoot up, the kind of look that says “excuse me?” but her body betrays her, leaning in instead of pulling back. “Fine,” she whispers fiercely, “I love you too.”

“Now stop being a sap and fuck me like you want to break me,” she purrs, swirling and bucking her hips into your throbbing girth invitingly. “I want you to have to carry me tomorrow. I want to be limping when you’re done.”

Lust overtakes your brain, painting your vision in the color pink that you can’t help but indulge in. You line yourself up anything but carefully, slamming in, hard, brutal, like you want to break her, burying your entire length in her tight and sloppy heat. Giselle throws her head back with force, walls clamping down on you, and you can see your name spelled on her lips, ready to be cried out. She somehow bites it back, only letting a strained moan escape her.

“Yes” and “fuck” and “oh my god” are chanted deliriously at a volume you’ve both painstakingly mastered to never get caught in the past as you set a punishing pace, pumping in and out of her cunt.

You pound and pound, grunting with exertion, eyes transfixed by the irresistible sight of her voluptuous tits bouncing wildly just past her thighs with each thrust. And she notices, because Giselle knows you. And knows you love watching her tits bounce. So she does the only reasonable thing, which is to arch her back and offer herself to you as much as her strength still allows.

“I know you like watching my tits while you rail me,” she taunts, kneading them together for your viewing pleasure. Giselle loves putting on a show. “Love seeing them shake from how hard you’re pounding me? Hmm, I bet you wanna cover them in cum already, mark them as yours.”

“Fuck, keep talking,” you strain out, angling your hips to hit that perfect spot inside her that makes her see stars.

Giselle’s eyes roll back in bliss as you pound into her g-spot, absolutely no mercy, no remorse, just brutal fucking with relentless precision. Filthy praise spills from her lips between muted cries of ecstasy.

She looks at you for a second, hazy eyes starting to roll back as she obediently continues. “Next time, I want you to bend me over that desk and take me from behind while I struggle to stand. Spank my ass until it’s raw and pull my hair while you fuck me stupid. Leave me shaking so bad I forget my own.”

Your rhythm stutters, a guttural groan and risk of drool tearing from you at the deliciously dirty image she construed. Giselle, consistent as she is, notices immediately and grins impishly, emboldened.

“Or maybe you’d rather I ride you in front of the mirror, let you watch my ass bounce on your dick? Let you play with my tits and see how perfect we look together?”

She finds some strength again, meeting your rhythm on a one fourth beat, rolling her hips in sync with your thrusts. “I love how sexy you make me feel. Love when you look at me like you want to devour me, love being your perfect little fucktoy.”

“Keep going,” you growl through your teeth like a desperate animal, picking up the pace, getting lost in her fervor, fucking into her harder, deeper. “Tell me everything.”

“I didn’t forget that I owe you a blowjob, but how about you fuck my face and we call it even?” Giselle continues, shameless and needy not strong enough words to describe her. “Want to choke on your big cock, let you use my throat and paint my face with runny mascara and cum.”

You’re pounding into her with wild abandon, the obscene slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the room, thank fuck for your thick door. Her words inflame your lust to never before seen heights, dipping your head to latch onto one rosy nipple, sucking the sensitive bud atop her heights into your mouth.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” she drools out, punctuation getting forgotten as she grows incoherent with pleasure. “That feels so fucking good. They’re so fucking sensitive for you, please bite them, leave your marks all over me. Shit, I could cum just from you playing with my tits…”

And what are you, if not a loving boyfriend, obliging her filthy request, nipping and suckling at her flesh, determined to cover her mounds in hickeys and teeth marks. Cover her in you. Never relenting your pace, drilling into her squelching pussy like a man possessed by a pink haired goddess. Some kind of Aphrodite.

Her cunt is practically gushing everytime you move your cock, soaking your thighs with her arousal.

“Close, I’m so fucking close,” she slurs, but not in the way that would get a themepark to close a faux landmark. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop—please, I fucking need it—cum for me too, paint my fucking cervix white, breed me, fuck, knock me up, shit shit shit, I’m gonna—”

Her filthy pleas are your undoing, destructive, a siren’s call drowning you from head to hilt. The sound that escapes from you is feral as you slam into her one last time, burying yourself as deep as is physically possible and then some. Your core tightens, your hands push her thighs flat against her body in way that will leave her sore in more ways than one, as the worst idea you’ve had yet doesn’t take time to consider itself, just throbbing straight through your cock, pulsing and erupting inside her, thick spurts of cum painting her insides filling her up.

Something about being too caught up in the moment.

Giselle is soon to follow, orgasm crashing over her, this one harder than before, triggered by the new sensation of your scalding seed flooding her clenching cunt. Her eyes roll back once more, the start of your name up to the first vowel breaking through her throat, shockwaves of pleasure tearing through her quivering body.

You recognize the danger, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth, half falling into her before catching you back up with your other hand, muffling her debauched cries, Giselle being too far gone to stay quiet on her own. Her lips are wet against your palm, breath heating you up as she bucks and writhes beneath you, impaled on you making her overflow, being equally guilty with how she milks for you every last drop you have.

The world shrinks and vision narrows to just you and Giselle, overcome and lost to feeling. Feeling her, feeling yourself, feeling… alive. Your hips piston in short, sharp thrusts on instinct, working your release as deep into her trembling body as possible, driven by some naturalistic part of yourself you’ve newly reacquired, a need to claim her and fill her to the brim with your essence.

And she takes it all with desperate enthusiasm, greedily and eagerly accepting everything you give her like you’ve done this a hundred times before. You haven’t, not even once.

Her life-giving eyes are squeezed shut, cheeks flushed the same pink as her favorite brand of peach colored lipstick, features slack with untainted pleasure. She looks utterly defiled, fucked silly, like the very picture of a perfect girlfriend and her wanton debauchery.

Your cum is leaking out around your shaft, dripping down between you, staining her bedsheets—still yours, but if she’s dripping on them, it’s her problem. Knowing her, she will make an argument it’s your fault because it’s your cum.

She’s never looked more beautiful, like an angel meant to absorb all your sins.

The aftershocks of her second crash ebb away, leaving you both panting, your hand sliding off of her mouth. Exhaustion hits all at once, causing a collapse on top of her and only bracing for a fraction of the impact on your forearms so as not to crush her. Pillowy tits caught most of the impact anyways, welcoming you gladly, trembling limbs following up and clinging to your sweat-slicked back.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, her voice hoarse but soothingly contented. “You’re carrying me tomorrow. No fucking choice. I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

You chuckle, actually chuckle, or maybe it’s better described as a snicker turning into a chuckle, reintroducing Giselle to a sound she thought she lost. She immediately surges up to capture your lips, tasting the sweetness of the laughter on your mouth with sloppy abandon, all tongue and spit and residual passion. She’s grinning dopily up at you as you break apart, and it does something to you.

She sighs, twitching beneath you. “Tch. After everything I let you do to me, all the places I said you could have made a mess of…” Her smug smirk makes an entrance as she tilts her chin down. “You just had to fill me up instead. Nice and dangerous.” Your pulse is still hammering, the implications of what you just did barely catching up to you before she derails it completely. She tilts her head, mock contemplation, but her smile is pure smug, a deadly taunt, hammering away at you. “And here I thought you wanted to see how pretty I’d look, tits covered in cum, dripping down my stomach.” Your jaw clenches, but she’s not done yet. “Or maybe,” she continues, “you wanted me on my knees, tongue out, looking up at you while I begged for it. Feel how messy I’d get swallowing everything that drips out.” She exhales, all faux-disappointment, licking her lips like she’s tasting the mere thought of you. “I get it though.” She grins, utterly fucking depraved. “It felt fucking amazing. I would have picked this too.”

“You’re insane.”

And so are you. For her. Staying like that for a moment, longer than a mere moment, just existing in the intimacy. Eventually, you pull out of her, a wet squelch announcing your physical separation.

The mixture of your combined fluids immediately starts to drip out of Giselle’s thoroughly fucked pussy as you pull out, a lewd concoction of her arousal and your thick cum. She whimpers, one eye closed, at the loss of your cock stretching her open, the sensation of your release seeping from her folds making her shiver.

There’s a sparkle of mischief in your eye, the glint indicative of the kind of challenges you and Giselle always throw at each other, and she characteristically notices, but just observes. You swipe two fingers through the mess between her thighs, coating them liberally in a layer of your shared passion.

She follows your digits through hooded lids, chest still heaving, a smirk turning into a surprised moan as you raise your slick fingers to her lips, painting them with you and her before pushing inside. Her eyes flutter shut in bliss as she eagerly accepts the offering, tongue swirling around the digits, lapping up every drop of your combined taste.

“Mmm, we taste so good together, you know?” she purrs sultrily once you withdraw your fingers with a signature Giselle pop. She opens her mouth, presenting the elixir on her tongue. “Want a taste?” You hadn’t considered it before, but half of what was in there was hers, and with a shrug of your shoulders, you dive in, kissing her haphazardly, tongue pressing against hers and swirling into a helix, tasting how good you two really come together. You pull back, and she swallows your cocktail down, proudly presenting an empty mouth.

“You do know a quick swipe isn’t enough to keep me from getting knocked up though, right stud?” She punctuates her words by clenching her walls, more of your release dripping out to pool on the sheets. “I can still feel so much of your cum inside me. We’re definitely getting plan B tomorrow, and you’re paying.”

Your cock twitches between your legs, as though being called to action. “If you keep spewing filth, I’m going to get hard again.”

“Promises, promises,” Giselle singsongs, grinning at you. She looks thoroughly well-fucked, hair a wild and pink tangle, skin covered in sweat you wouldn’t mind getting a taste of, your marks littering her breasts, throat and rearranged insides.

This is satisfaction.

You collapse next to her on the bed, one arm slipping under her and the other over her, gathering her up into you. She comes willingly, a little joyous squeal escaping, tangling your legs together, uncaring of the sticky mess. Exertion turns into exhaustion as you listen to your racing heartbeats gradually slow and even out.

This was exactly what you needed to take your mind off of things for once, but as the high fades, reality sets back in. It feels different, something unspoken that settles over the both of you, settling into the spaces in the room where grief and love have spent the last few days battling for dominance.

Your forehead rests against hers at its most comfortable, close enough you can hear every breath as it keeps her here. Her fingers brush over your back softly, fingertips gliding idly, starkly in contrast with the frantic clawings she left earlier.

Silence falls between you, but it isn’t the kind you want to chase away. It’s the one that says it all. Not oppressive or suffocating anymore. Just… full.

You shift slightly, not because you want to leave her, something simple, the feeling of your arm starting to fall asleep, and Giselle groans. “You are not allowed to move yet.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” she mutters. “Stay.”

It’s a simple request you never had any intention to ignore. But it’s the way she says it—soft, drowsy, fragile—that turns it into an impossible request to ignore.

Your face buries into the crook of her neck, planting soft kisses against her flesh, the scent of sex and sweat wrapping around you.

“I love you,” she whispers, and it's so damn near silent that you’re not sure if she said it for you to hear or for herself.

You close your eyes, settle into her and answer back anyways. “I know.”

She exhales, a snicker preluding her. “You’re supposed to say it back, asshole.”

Your lips curl into a smirk, tugging at your lips, but there’s not a trace of teasing in your voice when you respond to her a little too quickly. “I love you too.”

Her body relaxes, and yours follows suit. More silence follows, More warmth. More of just simply being.

Then, Giselle huffs and puffs, your hands automatically on her waist. “You know we’re stuck here until everybody has left, right?”

You grunt, but you don’t even bother to lift your head. “What?”

“My dress is currently in several pieces on the floor,” she remarks, no question about who the accusatory tone was meant for. “And while I am thrilled by the feral caveman display of strength, it does leave me exactly with zero options for leaving this room.”

You snort, shifting just enough to glance at the shredded fabric scattered across the floor like some ruined jigsaw puzzle. “That sounds like a you problem.”

Her gasp is clearly exaggerated, and the weak shove she gives your shoulder is a dead giveaway. “Excuse me? You did this!”

“Mm,” you hum, unconcerned with her accusation. Truth be told, you’d take any excuse to be stuck here with her forever. Still, a comeback felt deserved. “I clearly remember you telling me to ‘tear you apart’”

“That’s unfair, that was in the heat of the moment!”

“Almost everything we just did was in the heat of the moment.”

She opens her mouth faster than she can think of a clever comeback, and you can see the gears spinning in her head but not coming up with anything useful. Her mouth snaps shut, her eyes glare at you in betrayal. “I hate you.”

A familiar song and dance. “No, you don’t.”

“No,” she agrees, her shoulders dropping and releasing tension, as she nudges closer to you. “I really, really don’t.”

And you don’t feel like you’re spiraling anymore. Like the world is collapsing around you and you’d just let it. Like a husk of a man, just keeping the body alive while the mind is drifting further and further away into oblivion.

You feel… at home with her.

Her hand lifts, fingers brushing against the side of your face, undoubtedly noticing the weirdly optimistic crestfallen expression you carried. “What?” she murmurs.

Your throat tightens in its familiar constriction, but you manage to speak anyway. “My dad said something before they left.”

Giselle’s fingers still against your skin, as if bracing for impact. “Yeah?”

You swallow, inhaling like it might make this easier, but nothing can. “He said he felt better knowing I’ll have you.”

The words hang between you. Giselle stares, blinks once, and lips part slightly at their center, but nothing comes out. Not even air. Clueless on what to say to something like that, something that raw.

You sigh, resigned, but with a tinge of optimism that some might confuse for naivety in your tone. “Guess he knew what he was talking about.”

The muscles in her face loosen, and she responds with her body first. Not hesitant, not afraid, a sense of certainty and clarity guiding her.

Her fingers find familiar footing in your hair, another hand palming your jaw, warming it up and comforting you. She’s taking you in—and yesterday it would have been because she’s worried, but today it’s because she isn’t. Like she knows you, down to your very bones, exactly who you are and she’s waiting for you to realize it too.

“Right,” she breathes with ease. “You still have me.”

The words are like a magic spell, settling somewhere into the ache in your ribs, into the spaces grief left raw and you tried to dispose of, a stitch pulling on the raw flesh of an open wound, preparing it to heal.

You don’t know what to say to that. You don’t think there’s anything you can say to that.

You hang loose in her touch. She lets you. Lets you take your time. Because she knows.

You’re not okay.

Not yet.

But Giselle makes it feel like maybe that’s okay too.

That maybe it’s enough for now to know that you’re still here with her, that she’s saved your life twice now. And tomorrow you can take her up on all the filthy promises she’s made, but if you need to just be in her arms today, that’s fine too.

Because you still have her.

#Giselle smut #Aespa smut #Giselle #Aespa Giselle smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #smut

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theroundbartable · 1 day ago

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Little story time anecdote.

So, I have this friend. He's married now, deeply romantic... But he wasn't out for romance with everyone when we were younger. He had friendship plus relationships and everything. And he was very open about those, even those he cut off because the other end suddenly wanted the romance part as well. He's not aro, but the situation has aromantic undertones to it, I think.

Introducing me, aroace, sexually traumatized. I wasn't always good with jokes about sex. People often liked to get too close too quickly. My boundaries had been disrespected by strangers, friends and family alike. Still are at times. So whenever I talked to experienced people, people to who sex was a daily thing, a thing they would question you about whenever you met, I kept feeling pressured, awkward, insecure. I used to have to compromise in order to keep those friendships.

This guy, who's reputation wasn't even that great in our friend group (when he was in serious relationships, he'd disappear), came on to me once as well.

But the way he did it was perhaps the only time I've ever felt okay with it. Even when my fiancé makes jokes about it (she's aego), I often feel out of the loop.

Because it was casual, indirect ("I wouldn't mind if we'd end up in bed") it was a mere suggestion and as soon as I said no, he moved on and didn't bother me with it again. He wasn't offended, wasn't angry, didn't make awkward jokes even when I was. He treated it as a compliment and went on as normal.

I always have to fight for my 'no'. I always feel the need to justify myself.

He didn't ask for an explanation. He didn't patronize me. He treated the entire situation as the decision it was and he respected mine as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

It was not normal to me.

I think it isn't normal for most women either. His is the kind of behavior about sex I want normalized in my life. Both about sex and about romance. It was the most comfortable I've ever felt with someone who considered me attractive and who I still feel save with when we're alone.

No more: are you a lesbian? Why not come with me? Maybe another drink will change your mind.

It's a decision.

Only yes means yes. And you don't owe them justification for your no.

by the way, if you're weird about aromantic heterosexual cisgender men, i kill you. if that man wants a purely sexual relationship with a woman and communicates that with her, and she agrees, hell yes. good for them. you have no right to be a bitch about that. that's frankly none of your god damn business. he's not "emotionally abusive" for wanting a specific type of relationship. you're being stupid and weird. and weirdly misogynistic, by assuming that women are inherently these helpless victims that have no agency or autonomy.

you're literally being the "the myth of consensual sex" meme when you talk shit about cishet aro men in purely sexual relationships with women.

#personal #delete later #only yes means yes

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pearlymel · 2 days ago

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Immediate disorder

Sum. You walked right into that trap. Did you know it was coming? Absolutely (not).

Warnings. NSFW, smut, fem reader, unprotected sex, noncon(?), slight nipple play, blood (on the lips), biting, idk what to make of this. 1.8k words.

Notes. Did you miss me? Jk. I hope I'm not too late on posting this. Anyway, will probably post a Rafayel day fic next!

Zayne's head snapped to the side as your fingers dug into his jaw, tilting his face at a sharp angle. The needle pierced his neck—hot, then cold, then a surge of searing heat that raced through his veins like liquid fire.

"Stop holding yourself back," your voice, almost a whisper to his ear, something gentle. A contrast to what you had just done. ".. Confront your true self."

He bared his teeth, a feral sound tearing from his throat as the drug took hold. His muscles seized, back arching against the unyielding chair. The restraints bit harshly into his skin, metal groaning as his body strained against them.

His eyes then flew open, hazel-green irises swallowed by black pupils. You stepped back, watching.

Zayne's chest heaved, breath coming in harsh pants. The drug pulsed through him, setting his nerves alight.

Confront your true self, you had whispered. As if he didn't know what that meant.

He was a warden no longer. He was a prisoner. A monster, forged in the crucible of a broken world.

Slowly, he turned his head back to face you, lips curling into a grin. The restraints creaked ominously as he leaned forward from his place.

His voice was a low rasp, "Is this what you wanted to see?"

He rose to his feet, the chains had held him rattled and strained, but did not break.

"Your mistake..." He took a step towards you, head cocked to the side. "Was thinking I was still sane.”

Shit. you try telling yourself that it will be okay, even though he could probably barely recognize you anymore.

you just had to find the activator, press it and he would be fine, right? The biggest challenge was, getting close to him.

With full force, you managed to grab him, pushing him right onto the chair where his back slammed into it, the air forced from his lungs in a harsh exhale. "You think..." he breathes harshly, as if sweating, "you can control this?”

One hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist. His grip was like a vice as he yanked you closer, until your face was mere inches from his own.

“where's the activator?” frustration evident in your tone, only to be met with a chuckle.

“why don't you.. touch me and find out?” He leaned in closer, right next to your ear, "If you fail, there will be consequences.”

That's it. You had a minute to search him, and you weren't going to give up until the end. Your hands caressed his chest, unintentionally, of course. The subtle touch made him hiss, but you decide to ignore it.

Thirty seconds left. Twenty. Ten.

You were terrible at working under stress, and he was going to snap. He was going to break. And you would be the one to bear the consequences.

Three. Two. One.

Zayne felt the chains shatter like glass, the sudden movement sent you stumbling back, but before you could get too far, his hand gripped the back of your head, grabbing your hair to crash your lips together into a bruising kiss.

It was no lover's embrace, but a violent claiming. His mouth slanted over yours, teeth and tongue and breath stealing into your lungs, one hand sliding up your chest to squeeze while keeping your head in place, making you moan helplessly.

Then, you're both on the hard, cold ground before you knew it. His knuckles grazing the concrete floor without realizing it as means to protect your head.

With a shake of his head, both of his hands now grip underneath your thighs to part them, to slot himself in between them before his teeth found the bare skin of your exposed neck.

A strangled gasp tears from your throat, “o-oh,” you want to pull him away, but even tugging on his hair won't make him stop.

He presses your thighs further, “this isn't how you imagined our first to be, hm?” He whispered against your lips before his teeth found your lower lip, tugging on it hard enough to elicit a pained groan out of you.

Until the bitter taste of copper reached your taste buds that he tried swiping it away with a soft glide of his tongue.

Zayne then buried his face between your chest while his hips tried rocking into you desperately, like it was too painful for him him to handle.

His hands that were underneath your thighs made their way up to squeeze your ass before his fingers dig into the fabric to pull it all down, “Don't deny me,” he murmured like he was out of breath.

He only lifted his head to rip your top off almost too easily, zayne could sense your hesitation, anticipation, all the possible overwhelming feelings that you couldn't name at once.

You're left with nothing but you're undergarments, your skin was starting to shiver, maybe from the cold, but also from his half lidded almost hungry gaze.

Your hand pushed at his side, still trying to find the activator, but he grabs your wrist, and his teeth tugs at the lace of your bra to pull down to expose your tit to his hungry eyes. For him to taste and devour.

“Zayne, please—” you grit your teeth together when his tongue rolled around your neglected nipple, the stimulation almost making your eyes roll back.

“Keep saying my name,” he growled, his fingers that almost fooled you to be a featherlight touch, moved to tug your panties to the side, enough to expose your cunt to him, not bothering to slide it off.

“The.. Activator.. Where..” you were almost losing your own sanity when two fingers parted your folds to find the little bundle of nerves hiding beneath them, and the minute he started rubbing without mercy, is when the first moan slips from your lips.

And Zayne is gone.

“I've held myself back for so long.. And now..” he hissed, freeing himself from the tight confinements of his black leather pants. His cock all leaky and red, as if ready to burst if he hears your sweet sounds again.

He wraps a hand around his thick shaft, rubbing his tip over your slick slit, teasing your clit which most definitely made you arch your hips further into him. Wanting, no—needing him inside you because this is all you were missing, no matter how much you tried denying it.

Your head swims back to the time Zayne had silenced the prisoners, carrying a powerful presence and voice, oh was it so hot that you literally clenched around nothing.

“h-haah—!” your eyebrows furrow, and your lips part when you suddenly feel full. While imagining your fantasies, you didn't even notice him thrusting in all the way, the intrusion making you clench tightly this time around his hard length.

The pain was sudden. Sharper than you had expected, a burning, stretching ache that stole the breath from your lungs.

But it was fleeting.

Gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a rush of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. He started to move, slowly at first, then faster. Harder.

The wet, obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the air, mingling with their ragged breaths and needy moans.

"Could stay here forever," he panted heavily while squeezing the plush of your thighs, his tip nudging deep inside that spongy spot on repeat that you couldn't help but cry out.

"Feels.. I-incredible." Zayne looked like he was out of it, eyes half lidded, almost rolled back with his head thrown back, and panting like a starving animal.

“Zayne, mmh—” your whimpers only drove him to snap his hips again and again, each thrust harder than the last. The force of it rocked your body, made your breasts bounce with each thrust that it was maddening.

Your toes curled when you felt the telltale signs of your orgasm approaching. Then, you glance down at his abdomen.

One last chance.

With all the strength left in you, you reach out to press against his abdomen where you were sure was the activator this time.

In an instant, the fog lifted.

The red haze that had clouded his vision, the primal, unchecked rage that had driven him to this point, evaporated.

He blinked once. Twice. His eyes, no longer black and lifeless, focused on your face.

But then all the feelings had become to overwhelming to bear, his hips faltered, and the force of his release made him whine quietly, the back of his hand covering his mouth.

His face, full of ecstasy, made you cum right on the spot as well, “ah shit—” you press your lips together, covering your face using both of your shaky hands as you moved your hips sloppily until you both completely stopped.

Then, a new realization dawned. A cold, hard truth that settled in the pit of his stomach like a stone.

He had hurt you.

The breath left his lungs in a shuddering exhale, and for a moment, he couldn't move. Couldn't think. Could only stare down at you with a dawning horror etched into every line of his face.

“No…” His voice was a hoarse, broken whisper. you could see the way his body started shaking when he slowly pulled out to not hurt you, and the way his shaky hands tried covering your chest up to maintain some decency.

He had never meant for this to happen. Never wanted to hurt you.

And yet, in his frenzied state, he had lost all control. Had become the very thing he had once sworn to destroy.

“F-forgive me.” he almost choked out, and you wouldn't believe it but.. Was he crying? His eyes were red, almost teary. And you feel like it was all your fault.

“I do, I do—” you reply in panic as you sit up, wanting nothing more but to bring him close into the comfort of an embrace.

“I will take care of you,” you both say at the same time, leaving both of you stunned.

But without a word, zayne tries sliding his hands underneath your knees, but he hesitates to even touch you again.

So he glances at you, as if asking silently for your permission. And you nod.

He slides his arms underneath your knees and back, carrying you out of this hell hole for maybe... another chance to prove himself. To show you the real Zayne.

#pearlwrites☆#zayne x reader #love and deepspace #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #lads x reader #love and deepspace zayne #dr zayne #love and deepspace x reader #zayne #zayne smut #zayne x you #dr zayne x reader #lads #lads smut

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clare-875 · 3 days ago

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Where I Belong (Luffy x Reader)

Pairings: Luffy x Female Reader (+ Strawhats and Reader) Summary: After a bad encounter with past friends, you just want your boyfriend and your crew. Warnings: Hurt, Comfort, mean friends, bullying [One Piece Masterlist] _____

When you returned to the Sunny, you didn't expect to feel so heavy and self-decrepit; you honestly expected the opposite.

When Nami informed you that the next island you would visit was your hometown, you had been ecstatic, instantly writing to your childhood friends in the hopes that you could meet up in the short time you were there. Your heart thrummed with the anticipation of being back on land you knew and breathing the nostalgic air of home. When you had gone to tell Luffy the news, he had joined in on your enthusiasm, grinning wide as you told him all you missed and all you hoped to see.

It had been several years since you had left the island and town you grew up in as a child. Orphaned at a young age, the people of the village had all become your caretakers in a way. They all adored you, a sign that the parents you have little recollection of were also adored before they passed away, and you had grown close to most who resided there. But you shared no deeper connection than the one you shared with your friends.

From the early stages of your childhood and into your teenage life, they had been the backbone of your delight in adventures, and the joyous memories spent despite being left with little place to call home. You would spend much of your time travelling areas of the island you had yet to explore, running in meadows on the back end of town, and giving puppy eyes to cafe owners who would spare you sweet treats. In later years you would gossip about boys, laugh at inside jokes, share in troubles and secrets and happiness.

When you had left your island, the goodbyes had been tearful, and bittersweet. Luffy offered all you had wished for since childhood: adventure, devotion, and answers about the world. With your mysterious devil fruit powers and harbouring an unnatural strength, you would be an asset to the straw-hat crew just as much as the crew would be an asset to you. That didn't make it harder to hug your friends goodbye or wave to them atop a ship that takes you far away. And as much as you adore your life now as a pirate on the sea, you could not help but reminisce.

You missed them, and you could not wait to see them again.

Upon arriving on your island, your senses instantly fill with a vibrancy and an air you had missed. "Come on!!" Your crewmates had smiled wide at your enthusiasm, basically dragging Luffy from the ship; a stark contrast to how he would usually be the one dragging you to islands. In an instant, the townsfolk had gathered, seeing a familiar straw hat and the young woman - a little bit older now - they said goodbye to several years prior, now back home.

"[y/n]!!"

"Welcome home!!"

"How long are you staying!?"

You smile tearful smiles as you greet the villagers who are all alive, safe and well. Familiar faces gather in your vision; the island's renowned cook, waitresses from cafes, shopkeepers and old family friends. They all seem so happy to see you and proud of the accomplishments they have read of in newspapers that travel the sea. '[y/n] [l/n], pirate of the Strawhat crew.' You were surprised by their support of your role as a pirate but it only amplified the nostalgia and warming feeling in your heart as you greeted them.

In fact, the only people absent were the childhood friends you hoped to see.

As people dispersed and gave you space, the local bookshop owner assured you that your friends were somewhere close by and that you would surely bump into them soon. Taking his words in confidence you had turned to your crew who had all been smiling and looking on fondly at the sight of your reunion with the townspeople.

"All right, let me show you guys around!"

You had taken your friends around the island, allowing them to see and explore the town that raised you as a child. They smiled when you spoke to them of the different places and what they meant to you, took suggestions on where to explore to heart and seemed genuinely happy to see where you had grown up.

"The restaurant where [y/n]-swan used to eat- The house that [y/n]-swan used to live- The shop where [y/n]-swan used to-"

"Oi, shut up, cook!!"

"Shi shi shi, this place is so cool [y/n]!!"

You grin as your friends seem to enjoy and appreciate the place you adored just as much as you. Sanji swooning over everything that had something to do with you, Zoro eying the liquor store down the street, Robin taking interest in the ancient books the island held, Brook in the music, Franky in the strange inventions, the list could go on. Your heart warmed at the sight of your makeshift family, getting along so well with the family that raised you. Luffy especially seemed excited to explore the island he visited before, keen to try the food that it was famous for.

"And that's about it! You guys can go and explore on your own now if you-"

Your words stumble to a halt when you see three familiar figures approaching you, grins wide and hands in the air in greeting.

"Hey [y/n]!! Is that you?"

Your smile instantly enlightens your face as you turn from your crew briefly. And sure enough, your old friends are waving to you in greeting, eyes gleaming in their joy to see you again.

"It's been so long!!"

They instantly envelop you in a hug, filling the air with their questions on where you have been, and what you have been up to, and finally turning to your crewmates who smile wide at the company of those you have talked fondly about. Of course, they know of your friends, you would often speak of the adventures you went on and the times you spent together to whatever crewmate would listen.

"And this must be the famous Strawhat crew!!"

"Yep! Guys, these are my childhood friends I always tell you about!"

Your friends turn to your crewmates, eyes shining in awe at the crew you were a part of, now infamous due to the battles you won and the strength that every individual pulled. You smile proudly at the sight of your friends greeting your other friends, the compliments thrown and the sheepish laughter of crewmates as they thank them for looking after you.

"Shi shi shi, alright!! It's time for food now!!"

Your boyfriend wraps his arms around you suddenly, grinning wide as he tries to pull you to the restaurant on the island he adores as much as you do. You roll your eyes, but other crewmembers also perk up.

"Actually, I was gonna check out the bookstore."

"And I should grab some groceries-"

"Those inventions earlier looked SUPERRR, I was gonna go check them out!!"

Nami smiles to you emphatically, as she grabs Luffy's ear and drags him from you. "Ow!! Nami!!" She pays him no mind, however, and turns to you and your friends once more.

"Why don't you go catch up with your friends [y/n]? I'll take Luffy to the restaurant and we'll probably be around town anyway."

"But I want to go with [y/n]- Ow!!"

You smile wide at Nami's understanding that you had missed your friends and hoped to catch up. Other crewmembers nod in encouragement.

"Yeah, [y/n]! You should go, we'll be around here if you need us!"

Chopper smiles happily at you and you hesitate at Luffy's crestfallen expression, but ultimately take the invitation.

"Okay, thanks, guys!!"

"Take your time, we'll be here until tomorrow morning!"

Nami continues to drag Luffy away in bright words and smiles, as the Strawhat crew wave and disperse to the areas that each ignited curiosity in them. Luffy pouts, telling you to not be too long but ultimately persuaded that the food at the restaurant could keep him company for the time you spent away. And in their absence, you turn to your friends eager to hear what you had missed in the years spent at sea.

The beginning goes as you expected, courteous questions, still tentative in the presence of friends you had not seen in a while.

"So, how have you been, [y/n]?"

"How's life at sea?"

And to the questions you received, you replied in the same manner, still joyous, seeing your friends once more. Time away with the future pirate king did mean leaving a life you had grown so attached to behind but in its place, the Sunny became your temporary home. You still missed the simplicity of life on the quaint island you resided in, and seeing your friends ignited memories of the times you spent together.

"I've been doing great!! So many cool adventures, I don't even know where to start-"

You had thought your keenness in the stories you told of the adventures at sea would be received with the same enthusiasm. After all, you had spent so much time away and shared a heartfelt goodbye before you left the island. However, the longer you spoke of your adventures and the longer you spoke of Luffy and your crew, the more their upturned lips started to turn downwards. Their gaze on you started to waver, and in the absence of your crewmates as they walked to restaurants or looked to places around the island, their interest in you also started to falter.

"-and then, you wouldn't believe. But Luffy, he changed gears and punched him through-"

"Yeah, yeah, that sounds great [y/n], but we were actually going to go to the shops right about now."

You pause, surprised by the abruptness of your friend who interrupts the words from your mouth. Suddenly, flustered and thinking you have talked too much (though having only spoken a few sentences), you instantly quietened and nodded in inclined understanding.

"Oh, yeah! Of course, don't let me stop you guys! Where were we thinking of going? I remember that clothing store down the road to that cafe we liked-"

"Oh... you wanted to come too?"

You frown as they interrupt once more, the vibrant air suddenly dwindling with what their words imply, or the feeling you suddenly did not belong in a space you were so sure you did.

"I mean, I thought we could catch up! It's been a while right?"

Your words are less confident than you hoped, lingering with the hesitance that matched the sudden weight of your thoughts. You watch as your friends look at each other, the same hesitance on their faces making you more confused as to why they are acting this way. They seem to share thoughts between their eyes, but ultimately they seem to come to a silent agreement.

"Okay."

But the day that passed had been nothing like what you were used to, and the friends you thought you knew acted nothing like the friends you spent your childhood with. It seemed like an invisible wall was put between you and them, and you followed behind them as you travelled the streets and to the shops. You hear them talk of dinner plans, of meeting people and of events they do not bother explaining to you. They laugh at jokes you don't understand, pass you a sympathetic smile and words like, "You just had to be there," and, "Oh, sorry [y/n], you wouldn't understand, would you?"

And you didn't know exactly why, but those words hit harder than the times they would ignore you as they picked out clothes and giggled with each other. Or when they went through stores and chose jewellery for an event that would take place a week from the current day. Or when they seemed to talk in whispers and not let you in. Each time they acted like you were a fly on the wall, invisible to them though you spent the whole day with them. Suggestions from you to visit the meadow, or go to cafes you so missed fell on deaf ears and all you received were hums and, "Oh, we don't go there anymore."

Your heart felt heavy and the day was long. You tried to convince yourself that this was just what happens when you don't see friends in a while. They grow, they move on. But you also remember how often you spent missing your friends, how you wrote to them even with their sparse replies, or how you cherished and held the memories of them so dear. And now, you see them trying to get rid of you silently, push you away from the circle they made, and their initial interest in your happenings as a pirate had long gone.

It seemed, their interest in you had gone.

But the worst was when you had left to use the bathroom. When you had gone briefly and returned to your friends who looked at dresses, the afternoon sun was already falling to the ground. You were surprised at how the day had passed unbeknownst to you when it had felt so long. You wonder what Luffy was doing, and how Nami was doing taking care of your boyfriend while you were away. He didn't necessarily need to be taken care of, but the two of you often explored islands together and you wondered if he missed you as you missed him.

When you had passed through rows of clothing and were walking past patrons to your friends, you heard your name amongst words you know you shouldn't have heard.

"Damn, was [y/n] always like this?"

"Beats me, do you see the letters she sends us like she's better than us, travelling the sea with the Strawhats."

"Yeah, it's still a wonder they let her join. I only went up to her 'cause I wanted to see if her crewmates were worth all the hype they're getting..."

"Right?! Why did she have to send them away?"

You freeze, still hidden from your friends' view by a clothes rack that impairs their vision. Stomach churning at the words you hear slip past their lips. Your eyes widen, as though you do not see them, your name and their voices confirm it is they who speak to you like a stranger they ridicule, and in such a way that makes your heart sink. Your childhood friends, who you had placed such value in, mocked you for your life choices, and your role on the Strawhat crew, and hoped only to use you to get closer to your infamous crew.

"Did you see the swordsman? Zoro, I think it was? Talk about muscle..."

"And omg, Nami's sense of fashion is just so good, I wish I could've had her tag along instead of-"

It is then that you step forward past the racks, and your friends perk up at your sudden movements, words dying on their tongues. But you try to keep a neutral expression, despite the breaking of your heart. They seem to be convinced you have heard nothing as they wait a moment for you to say something.

"I-I think I'm gonna go now. I don't wanna keep my crew waiting."

Again, your words are hesitant, low but you keep them sturdy enough to sound like a genuine concern you are going to adhere to. Instantly, your friends stand, giving you more attention than they did the whole day.

"Oh, really? Are you sure you don't wanna stay? You could come for dinner, maybe even invite your crew-"

"It's fine."

You smile, straining against your cheeks as you do, hoping your lips have upturned enough to contain the falsity of your expression.

"Thanks for today though, it was nice seeing you guys again."

Words slip your lips almost robotically, hands numb as you feel your friends awkwardly hug you and say their goodbyes. You faintly remember them waving and muttering words like, "Good luck," and "We'll see you next time," but as your legs pull you free from the stuffiness of the store it is like your numbness comes undone. Raging feelings course through your body, and suddenly a line of tears lay on your lower lashline.

You curse yourself.

You hate the way you have been so excited to see your friends when clearly the same sentiment was not returned. You hate the way you wrote to them and reminisced about them and spoke to your crew so fondly of them. You hate the way they have such influence over your joy and the disappointment that drips into your system because of their words and actions. You had spent the whole day with people who barely spared you any mind, when you could've been with Luffy and your true friends, showing them your home town.

Luffy.

Suddenly, and perhaps, more than ever, you crave your boyfriend's presence and his wide smile. And so, you walk through the streets you used to adore, now burdened with the day you spent. Smiling half-heartedly at townsfolk who recognise you and bid their greetings, travelling concrete roads that glow with the sunset, walking familiar paths to the Sunny that was silent on the sea. A moment passes when you look up at the sight, remembering when Luffy had asked you to join him. The image of the ship was parallel to the day you joined the Strawhats: you were on the island looking at the Going Merry and making a decision that would change your life.

You walk, up to the deck, confused about the silence until you hear a yell from inside the kitchen.

"LUFFY!! What are you doing!! That's for [y/n]!!!"

"But I'm hungryyy!! She won't mind, she always shares with me!!"

"You ate at the restaurant!!"

When you open the door, you are met by the sight of Nami trying to wrangle food from Luffy's clutches. You recognised the meal as something your favourite restaurant makes, it was your favourite meal, and something you missed dearly, along with the island. There are two beats of silence until Luffy turns, face suddenly going from frustrated to a wide grin the instant he notices you.

"[y/n]!!"

Luffy jumps from the spot where he had been trying to steal food from Nami, instantly enveloping you in a hug that takes you stumbling back a few steps. Nami sighs loudly before putting the packed meal on the counter and stomping outside the kitchen.

"Idiot... I'll be on the island with the crew!!"

She doesn't wait for your reply and leaves the kitchen in abrupt frustration. Luffy doesn't seem to mind her absence though as he lifts his head from where he embraces you, a smile tugging against the corners of his lips. Still downtrodden from the day's events and trials, you take the sight in and feel the weight of the day fall onto you and disappear at the same time. Tears start to line your eyes once more, but you hold them in, unfortunately for you, however, Luffy notices your quiet and despondency.

"[y/n]? What's wrong?"

He releases you from his deathly embrace as he looks at you seriously. You on the other hand laugh softly as you shake your head, suddenly relieved to be with your boyfriend and away from the friends who made you feel so awful about yourself.

"Nothing's wrong... I just missed you."

Luffy hums in contemplation, staring and tilting his head for several moments as though analysing your features for a trace of a lie. But you guess your words are not a lie. You did miss him after all, more than ever when you were with your childhood friends; a burden and outcast. Your smile is still on your lips, and though sadder than usual, Luffy decides to trust you, as he matches your expression with a grin.

"I missed you too!! Look, we got something for you."

Luffy instantly turns to the counter where Nami just put the meal she claimed to have gotten you. Luffy smiles cheekily as he hands it to you. You smile at the gesture, it was a massive assortment of foods the local chef knew you adored.

"Wanna eat together?"

You don't even have to ask as Luffy jumps on a chair by the dining room table, eagerly waiting for you to join him. However, he must've sensed something was off with you because instead of going straight into the meal, he watches as you unpack it carefully. There was more food than you thought there would be, so you were glad you had enlisted your boyfriend's help to devour it. You pick up your fork and take a bite, savouring the way the food melts in your mouth, and ignites feelings of nostalgia buried so deep within you that it almost makes you cry.

"Luffy, this is sooo good!!"

"Really!?"

You turn and grin, but are taken aback when you witness the way Luffy is smiling to you. It is in a way that seems gentler, and softer than usual. There is adoration in his eyes like you were the treasure he searched the seas for, but hidden within are also the depths of understanding you do not usually see. It is instantly diminished, however, as he clutches a fork and takes a bite of the meal himself, face brightening at the taste. However, as he speaks there is a serious undertone that makes you think that maybe he was not so quick to diminish your sullen behaviour earlier.

"Your friends... They weren't nice to you, were they?"

You freeze and look to your Captain who looks from the food to you imploringly, a serious glint in his eyes, but a sad smile on his face.

"What do you-"

"You only look like that, when you had a bad day."

Luffy's lips turn to a frown now as he bites into the meal and lets the silence linger between the two of you. Still surprised by his words, but also moved by the way your oblivious captain seems to understand you to no end, you smile softly despite the tears that fall from your eyes, now unstoppable. Luffy still looks at you in concern, as he witnesses the upturn of your lips, and the falling of tears, and he waits for the words you speak softly.

"Yeah. They were different, changed, and maybe this isn't the home it used to be..."

You look to your boyfriend who remains patiently waiting for you to finish speaking your thoughts. You remember back to when you accepted his offer to join the crew. You recall the adventures you went on, your beloved crewmates and how so many had joined and how you had all come so much closer, like the family you never had. You remember confusing love confessions due to Luffy's inability to understand his feelings.

You remember the depths of care your boyfriend held throughout the entirety of your relationship.

How he would listen when you spoke of your adventures, lured in by the spark in your eyes when you talked of something enthusiastically. How he would laugh and smile and never make you feel excluded from the company around you. How he treated you and his nakama with such importance and faith. The stark contrast to what you experienced today.

"... but it's okay. The crew is my home now."

You smile and Luffy's eyes widen for a second before he grins, his same, wide and unfaltering smile. The two of you share in your gaze once more before Luffy takes his Strwaht and places it on your head. It fits snugly atop your hair, but more so there lingers the symbol that you were accepted, loved, and adored by the man you sit beside. Smiles linger as the both of you continue to dig into the meal in front of you and soon, crewmates come back to the ship and greet you in their pure, true contentment.

"Hey [y/n]!!"

"Damn [y/n], you never told us how SUPERRR your island is!"

"I had a lovely time."

“So many cute dresses!!”

As you watch your crewmates gather around the table, their own meals in hand no doubt by the local cook who provided them, you let the heaviness of your heart dissipate for a while. Whilst this island still holds memories and places you adore, with people you still hold dear, it felt like for the first time in a long time, you know where you belong.

384 notes · View notes

mrgoldmc26 · 21 hours ago

Text

IU's Contract Renewal

Tags: Gangbang, blowbang, spitroasting, airtight, betrayal, bondage, piss play, humiliation, degradation and more...

Word Count: 9.2k

The following is a Fan Fiction and should be treated as such.

With just a little bit over six months remaining on her current contract, today was a big day for IU. It was a quiet Sunday morning, the kind that made the world feel slower, emptier.

After arriving at EDAM Entertainment's building, she stepped out of the car, flanked by her lawyer and bodyguard as they made their way toward the elevator—the familiar routine of a contract renewal settling in her mind.

She thought this would just be another simple contract renewal, but little did she know, it was going to be far from it.

Over the past few weeks, she had asked Bae Jong-han, her manager of fifteen years and also CEO of EDAM Entertainment, for details about the renewal. Usually, he was transparent, walking her through every clause and adjustment. But this time, he had been uncharacteristically vague, offering nothing but polite reassurances.

When she got to the place where the meeting was set to take place, it was empty. It was an office she had been in countless times before. It was spacious, with a large, oval wooden table dominating the center of the room, its polished surface reflecting the soft glow of the overhead lighting. At the far end, directly opposite the entrance, a TV hung on the wall, its black screen blank and unassuming for now. Just beneath it, a wall-mounted safe was embedded into the wall, its digital keypad and sturdy steel door a silent guardian of the valuables that were stored inside. To the right, a door led to a small private bathroom, a convenience she had used more times than she could count during long discussions.

IU exhaled softly, placing her bag on one of the chairs before turning to her lawyer and bodyguard.

"I'm going to do a quick makeup check." She said, making her way to the small bathroom.

Inside, she stood before the mirror, adjusting a stray strand of hair before carefully inspecting her makeup. Everything was in place, but the habit had become second nature—one final check before any important meeting. As she smoothed out the edge of her lipstick, a faint noise came from outside, signaling more people had arrived. Without wasting any more time, she hurried to finish up and stepped out of the bathroom, returning to the office.

Upon her return, she saw none other than Bae Jong-han, the man who had guided her career from the very beginning, standing with the same composed expression he always wore in these contract renewals. Beside him stood EDAM's lawyer, a man in his forties with sharp, observant eyes, and several board members seated at the table, waiting in silence. Near the double doors, on opposite sides, stood two bodyguards—EDAM's on the left, a tall, strong black guy, and IU’s on the right. Both remained still, their presence a silent yet heavy reminder of the power struggle unfolding in the room.

A warm smile broke across IU's face as she approached her longtime friend and manager.

"Jong-han oppa." IU said, as she, without hesitation, wrapped her arms around him in a brief but sincere hug, feeling the familiarity of fifteen years of trust.

"Good to see you, Jieun. Are you ready to get started?"

"I'm not sure. You always tell me details ahead of contract renewals, but this time you didn't say anything."

"Well, there are some changes we want to implement, and I didn't want to address them in private."

"Very well. Let's get started." He said, as he made his way to the TV and turned it on to begin a PowerPoint presentation. IU sat down next to her lawyer, with EDAM's lawyer sitting in front of them.

"Before we go over the contract in detail, I want to give you a brief overview. It's largely the same as before, but we've made some adjustments, particularly on the musical side of things."

"But before we get into that, let's talk about Jieun's acting career very briefly."

"The board is extremely pleased with the results. IU has proven herself as a top-tier actress, and the numbers reflect that. We want her to continue pursuing acting, since it’s a valuable part of her brand, and it's by far what earns us the most money."

IU gave a small nod, a quiet sense of pride settling in. Acting had always been something she cared about, and hearing it acknowledged so positively, even in business terms, felt validating.

"Now, onto the music."

"As you all know, our primary goal over the past few years has been to solidify IU as the top female soloist in Korea."

"I believe we've done a pretty good job with that up until recently. However, there are some new threats."

"Our main threats are these four ladies." He added, showing a picture of each Blackpink member.

"They are obviously the most popular female K-Pop idols in the world, and ever since they have started doing solo activities, their popularity has only gotten bigger. Also, if we add up all of their solo songs, and compare them to their group songs, their solo discography is now bigger than their group discography."

"Because of that, the rest of the company and I believe that IU is no longer the most popular soloist in Korea."

The words stung, and despite her best efforts to remain composed, a flicker of disappointment crossed IU's face. She shifted slightly in her seat, fingers brushing over the fabric of her skirt as if grounding herself. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard something like this in a business meeting, but that didn’t make it any easier. She had dedicated years to reaching the top, and hearing that her position was slipping, even from a strictly analytical standpoint, left an uneasy feeling settling in her chest.

"Now, that wasn't our only goal. We also believed that it was possible to fight against those K-Pop groups, but that has turned out to be a total failure."

"We are still not bigger than the most popular 3rd gen girl groups, like Blackpink, Twice and Red Velvet. And now, not only we have been overtaken by almost all the biggest 4th gen girl groups, but also by some of the 5th gen girl groups. This cannot happen! It's unacceptable!"

"These groups are known all around the world, but you...Jieun...you are only known in Korea, and we need to change that."

"Your songs are just not good enough." He added, as IU's disappointment only grew more apparent, the words hitting her like a stab to the chest.

"But do not fear...I've got a solution."

"Jieun...you might not like this, but...the company and I believe you should change your concept, and approach a more main stream vibe."

"We believe that you should try a Pop-Rock concept. It's very popular in the West."

"What? No! That would be selling my soul to the devil. I will not do it. I don't care about numbers, or views. I care about my fans and what is real to me."

"I was afraid you would say that, but I got another solution..."

"How about we change the way you dress?"

"I don't wanna bring them up again, but Blackpink has been wearing less and less clothes lately, and it seems to be working. Also, girls like Wonyoung have been showing up a whole lot more skin lately, and it's been driving everyone insane."

"Bae Jong-han...are you serious right now? How could you? This has to be a joke, right?"

"We are not joking. The industry has changed, and we need change...we need YOU to change. Our numbers are horrible right now, and we need to do something about it."

"I can't believe you would suggest those things...change my concept and dress like a slut? No chance."

"Jieun...you have no other options. We got the final saying."

"No, I refuse to believe that. I'm not signing anything right now. We'll see you next week." She said, a tear running down her face as she rushed out of the office, followed by her bodyguard and her lawyer.

IU was furious, sad and disappointed. She couldn't believe her CEO, but most importantly her manager and long time friend would suggest those things. IU knew the numbers were bad, and she wanted to do everything in her power to fix them, but not by compromising her values.

She spent the next week locked in her apartment with her lawyer, reading the new proposed contract and going over her current contract to try and find something she could use to make her way out of it. After going through both contracts a thousand times, her lawyer told her there was no way out.

IU couldn't believe it, and she refused to accept her fate. She called her manager over and over again, begging him, pleading with him to change the contract, but he wasn't having it. Desperation turned to anger, and she finally snapped, firing him right then and there over the phone, her voice sharp and unwavering. Yet his reaction was as indifferent as ever, unbothered and almost amused, as if he had expected this all along.

By the time Sunday arrived, IU had barely slept the night before. No matter how many times she went over the possibilities, they all led back to the same cold, hard truth—there was no easy way out. Still, she refused to let them win.

Around 11 AM, she arrived at the building, her bodyguard walking beside her in silence, whilst her lawyer carried a folder filled with notes from the past week. Last time, she had stepped through these doors feeling hopeful, even relaxed, trusting that they would find a solution. Now, that hope was gone. Her chest was tight, her jaw clenched, and every step felt heavier than the last. There was no more room for wishful thinking. Just quiet, unwavering determination to protect her image and the creative freedom she had spent years fighting for.

As they entered the conference room, IU immediately saw that something was different. Last time, she had been the first to arrive, left waiting while they made her stew in uncertainty, but this time around, they were already there. However, unlike before, the rest of the board members were nowhere to be seen.

Bae Jong-han sat comfortably at the head of the table, with his lawyer beside him and his own bodyguard standing near the door. There was no act of concern this time around. Just a smug expression as he leaned back in his chair, watching her like he had already won.

"Where are the others?"

"Not here. They are not coming."

IU didn’t waste time with greetings. No handshakes, no pleasantries. She simply set her bag down, took her seat, and folded her hands in front of her, meeting his gaze without an ounce of hesitation.

"So, Jieun...are you ready to sign?"

"IU. My name is IU." She said, stopping him from using her real name.

"And no. I refuse to sign the contract."

"What's your plan, then?...IU?..."

"I'm going to run down my contract, and I'll find another company."

"Good luck with that." He said, chuckling at IU's words.

"Tell me, IU...what company do you think is going to take you? Who's going to sign a 31 year-old who's past her prime? Someone who can't compete in streams or views against today's idols?" He said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.

"You're irrelevant now, IU. It's not 2017 anymore...you're no longer the industry's golden girl. You don't have the numbers, you don't have the youth, and most importantly, you don't have the power."

"So tell me, who's going to waste their money on you?"

"Let me answer that for you...NOBODY!!!"

"YOU need us just as much as we need you!" He said, slamming his fist on the table.

With IU being the sole artist under EDAM's wing, she was their only real source of revenue. However, from their perspective, her music career wasn’t keeping up with the rapidly changing K-pop landscape. Compared to today’s idols, her Spotify monthly listeners lagged behind, her music videos didn’t rack up views as quickly, and international streaming numbers weren’t what they could be. The company saw a clear solution. If IU abandoned her creative freedom and let them take control, they could reshape her image, Westernize her sound, and push her into the mainstream global market. They knew the potential was there, and if she just played along, the profits could be astronomical.

"What happened? Where is this side coming from?" She asked.

"You were supposed to be my best friend, my manager, my emotional support, and all of a sudden, you've turned into this corporate monster." IU added, her eyes starting to tear up.

"The industry has changed, IU, and so has EDAM."

"We have to adapt, or we'll die, and I won't let us die." He said, his tone sounding like your typical day-to-day CEO of a company, obsessed with numbers, power and control.

"What about us, what about the friendship we had for the past FIFTEEN years?"

"IU...I'm just doing what's best for business. I hope you can understand."

The room went silent for the next couple of minutes, neither side wanting to back down from their positions. From IU's side, it was a matter of protecting her values and her brand. On EDAM's side, it was a matter of optimizing IU, and turning her into the biggest money-making machine as possible.

IU knew he was right. There was no way any company was going to sign her, not at her age. Starting from scratch was a no-go either. She was rich, but not that filthy rich, to create a company from nothing, especially now without her manager.

"Jieun...listen..."

"Don't...don't you dare call me that."

"How important is this for you? To stay true to your roots and to keep your identity as a K-Pop idol?"

"Everything. It...it means everything to me."

"Very well..." He said, reaching into his briefcase and pulling out yet another contract.

"I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but..."

"The rest of the board members and I discussed another possibility. One that would allow you to do whatever you wanted, without any pressure from us." He added, tossing the contract onto the large wooden oval table.

"What's the catch?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he took his time walking around the table, stopping beside her. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"You see...there's something I've wanted from you for a very long time."

"Do I need to say it, or do you know where this is going?" He added, with a sickening grin spread across his face.

"I...I know where this going..." IU responded, her heart practically shattering into a million pieces, and her body feeling disgusted at the thought.

She had heard the stories...so many of them. Trainees who had their dreams dangled in front of them like bait, only to be forced into submission behind closed doors. Idols, some of whom had come to her in confidence, broken and ashamed, whispering about the things they had endured to secure a debut, a comeback, a single opportunity to further their careers and achieve their dreams in an industry that never played fair.

It had scorched her for years, haunted her in ways she never spoke about. Because she knew the truth...she knew it firsthand. Because once, a long time ago, when she was just a girl fighting for a place in this world, it happened to her. And now, after all these years, after everything she had built, everything she had overcome, it was happening again.

She thought those days were long gone. Never in a million years she thought she'd have to go through it again, especially this late into her music career, but she was wrong. It turned out that the industry hadn't changed. It had always been the same, and no matter how much time passed, there was nothing people could do to stop the monsters that lurked within it.

"Is this really the only way?"

"Yes...that is what the board wants. They want to see you, in ALL your glory." He said, moving behind her and rubbing his hands on her nude, cold shoulders.

"But they're not here."

"But the camera is." He said, pointing at the camera on the corner of the ceiling.

"If you agree, I'll press a button, and they'll be able to watch and listen to EVERYTHING that happens here."

"So that's it? I just need to suck your cock, and I'm free forever?"

"Oh, no. Hell no. No, no, no, IU. You're going to have to do a whole lot more than that."

"The board wants to see you used and humiliated. They want to see you get taken by everyone in this room."

IU's stomach churned, and a wave of nausea rose up inside her. This was not the path she ever wanted to take. IU knew she had other options. She had a way out of this, and yet, somehow, this was still her best option.

"And that is all? If I give you my body, you promise that you will leave my creative freedom alone?"

"If you do this and accept it, you are allowed to do whatever you want with your career from now on. We will never push you to do something you don't want. You will have full control."

Everything that the CEO said beforehand stung like a thousand needles, but that last line was the light at the end of the tunnel. What IU had always wanted. What she thought she had and was suddenly taken away from her for just some more money, at the cost of creative control. She could have it once again, and forever this time. All she had to do was let them have their way with her, and record everything.

"So...do we have a deal?"

"If this is what it takes...then yes. Take me." She said, surrendering her body to him. The CEO's grin only grew bigger, and he didn't hesitate pressing the button and turning on the camera, making sure the red light was on, so that the rest of the board could watch what was about to go down.

"Jieun, are you sure about this?" Her lawyer said.

"Yes. I w-want this...I...I need this."

Before IU could say any more words, she felt a pair of hands grab her neck and push over onto the table. It was the company's black bodyguard, just following orders from his boss. IU's own bodyguard stepped up to protect her, but IU intervened.

"No. Let him."

"Are you sure, miss Lee?"

"Yes...this needs to happen. It's for my future."

Her lawyer and bodyguard watched as IU got put on her knees and got surrounded by the three other men, all eager for her touch and attention.

"C'mon Jieun...take out our cocks and start sucking." He said, loosening the tie around his neck and removing his suit jacket.

"I told you to not call me that. You've lost that privilege." She said, resentment flickering across her face as she dropped his pants and took out his cock.

To her surprise, it was much bigger than she had expected—far larger than any of her past boyfriends. Not that she would ever admit it. She would rather let him fuck her than give him the satisfaction of hearing her say it.

"I can call you whatever the fuck I want. I've waited for this for more than ten years. Ten fucking years, praying that one day you'd turn to me and ask me to fuck you senseless, and here I am, finally getting what I want."

"WHAT I DESERVE!!!" He shouted, stomping his foot on the table.

"Are you going to let me suck your cock or what?! I can't fucking do it if you keep complaining and moving around like a corporate little BITCH." She shouted back, showing the real anger and resentment she was feeling.

"Uhhh, feisty...I like that. Fifteen years together, and this is the first time I've seen this side of you."

Her former manager stayed still, and IU parted her lips. Her mouth had barely opened before it was stuffed with cock. It was hot and throbbing, and she felt his hand tighten around her hair.

"Fuck...I've wanted this for so long."

He gave a satisfied moan and pushed her head deeper, her throat stretching to accommodate his thickness. IU struggled to breathe, her nose pressing against his pubes and the smell of musk invading her nostrils, and the problem was, it was not an unpleasant one.

IU couldn't explain it, but the way his cock stretched her lips and got harder in her mouth, the musky scent filling her senses, and the salty taste of his pre-cum on her tongue sent an unexpected shiver through her body. Despite the anger and frustration burning inside her, she couldn't ignore the way her body responded to it. She could feel her panties getting wetter with each thrust of his hips, and the sight of her own drool trickling down her chin was making her pussy ache with need.

She'd never imagined herself in this position, but there was no denying that it felt good. So good, that despite her best efforts, she couldn't hold back the soft moan that escaped her lips as he buried his cock deep inside her throat.

Around her, the other two men dropped their pants to reveal their hard cocks. The lawyer's dick had some decent size to it, but IU's eyes were all over the bodyguards massive black cock. She reached out to grab both of them and stroked them slowly.

"Look at you, doing things so willingly. I didn't have to ask you."

IU ignored him and instead remained focused on the task at hand. Her tongue lapped at the underside of his shaft, and her lips slid up and down his length, her saliva making it slick and easy to glide in and out. He threw his head back, lost in the pleasure of her mouth, and that's when he noticed her lawyer and her bodyguard still watching from the sidelines.

"Hey, you two. Come here. The company wants all of us to use this slut, and that includes both of you."

They looked at each other before looking at IU, as if asking for her permission. She nodded at them and continued sucking off her former manager. IU switched soon after, taking another dick into her mouth and stroking two more as she waited for her lawyer's and bodyguard's cocks.

Just like the company's bodyguard, hers was also packing, but that's something she already knew. When she was on tour, he was her form of stress relief after long shows. Truth be told, it had been a long time since IU had seen his huge dick, as she was on hiatus, due to her acting commitments.

As for her lawyer, he wasn't far behind. She had never seen him naked, and she was quite surprised by the length of his shaft. IU finally found herself surrounded by them and their big cocks. It had been months since the last time she had sex with anyone, so now, to be surrounded by five big dicks, her body couldn't help but respond.

IU needed her creative freedom, and her body needed this...badly!

Her CEO moved behind her, dropping to his knees and lifting her dress, exposing her perky tits. He started to squeeze and grope them, as IU kept switching from one cock to another, constantly trying to give each one an equal amount of attention.

IU's tight skirt was up next. He quickly pulled it down to her knees alongside her underwear, giving him an unobstructed view of her tight pussy and her plump ass. She had an amazing ass, round and juicy, and it looked even better when it was naked and on display. But as much as he liked IU's ass, her pussy had his full attention.

He put his hand between her legs and ran a finger along her slit, causing her to gasp and her entire body to shiver. IU's pussy was beyond soaked. She was dripping, and he could feel her wetness coating his fingers. He couldn't help but smirk at the knowledge that despite all her protests, IU was secretly enjoying this.

"Fucking slut. Look at this." He said, bringing his fingers up and showing them to her.

"You are enjoying this, I knew it."

IU looked at his fingers and couldn't help but smile around the cock in her mouth. She hated the way her body was betraying her, and yet, there was something incredibly arousing about being the center of attention and getting pleasured by five men at the same time.

He rubbed her clit a couple more times, and then plunged a finger deep inside her, pumping it in and out, causing her body to jerk and her moans to increase. Her pussy was tight and wet, and the sounds of his fingers moving inside her were intoxicating.

"Do you have nothing to say, Jieun?"

IU stopped bobbing her head around the cock in her mouth and let it drop from her lips, before tilting her head to the side and glancing over her shoulder at him, her eyes burning with lust and her chest rising and falling as she panted for air.

"Shut up and just fuck me already."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt his hands on her back, pushing her forward. IU used her hands to soften the impact, and she found herself on all fours, ass raised and exposed, her face hovering just inches from her bodyguard's cock.

"Do it...fuck my face. It's not like you haven't done it before."

"Are you sure, miss Lee?"

"Yes...make me gag on it."

IU could tell her bodyguard was still feeling a bit guilty, but his urges won over, and he grabbed a hold of her head. She felt him guide her towards his shaft, and she parted her lips to welcome it inside her warm and inviting mouth.

"Wait, what? You seriously let him fuck you before me?" Her former manager said, furious that she had let her own bodyguard have her before him, the man who had spent years supporting her.

"That's none of your fucking business." IU said, after pulling away from the dick in her mouth.

She grabbed his length and slapped it on her tongue a few times, before putting his cock back in her mouth.

"You are gonna pay for that, slut." The CEO said.

He didn't waste any time, immediately burying his face between her legs and running his tongue up her slit, lapping up her juices. It had been a long time since she'd had anything inside her pussy, so it was a shock when his tongue entered her and his fingers spread her folds open, sending sparks of pleasure throughout her body.

IU had no idea her pussy could be so sensitive, and her mind went fuzzy as he devoured her. The feeling of his lips and tongue working her clit was incredible, and the sensation of him sucking on her inner lips and flicking his tongue back and forth had her gasping and moaning.

A pool of IU's spit had formed underneath her head, as the lawyers and the bodyguards took turns fucking her face over and over again. She was a drooling mess for their big cocks, and she was having way too much fun taking their lengths down her throat. So much so, that she was caught off guard when her CEO's tongue slipped out of her pussy, only to be replaced by the tip of his cock.

The sensation of him pushing himself inside her, inch by inch, was something that she had almost forgotten what it felt like—to have a cock inside her pussy.

"So fucking tight...just like I thought it would be."

"Can't believe I finally get the chance to fuck the shit out of you."

He gripped her ass and began pounding into her, the sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the room. His thrusts were relentless, and IU found herself struggling to stay focused on the cocks in front of her, the feeling of her CEO's dick pounding into her, and the pleasure that was building deep within her was almost overwhelming, and she started moaning out loudly.

Her moans were muffled by the dick in her mouth, and her pussy tightened around her former manager's cock as she rocked her hips back and forth. Being spitroasted on top of the table and getting passed around like a slut was definitely not on her bingo card when she woke up that morning, but the truth was, she had never felt more alive.

Wanting to hear her moans, her former manager pulled her up by the hair, forcing her back to arch and her tits to bounce freely with each thrust. His hand slid around her waist, and he started playing with her clit, rubbing it and squeezing it between his fingers.

"Oh fuck, yesss. Right there, just like that." She said, throwing her head back in ecstasy.

"You love this, don't you? Admit it. You love getting fucked by five men at the same time." He whispered into her ear.

Whatever game IU was playing, of not wanting to admit it, was long gone—she had lost that game ages ago. There was no more point to keep denying, so she stopped fighting her body and mind. She decided to embrace her true desires, and just enjoy the moment.

"Mmmm hmmm...I love it. I love having five big cocks to play with."

"I want to feel all of your cocks inside me, please." She added, biting her fingernail.

"I knew it. You are nothing but a slut."

"A pathetic whore, standing up for yourself and your stupid creative freedom."

"You should let us fuck you and still let me control your career."

"Never! Just shut up and fuck me. Make me cum on your dick."

IU's wish was exactly what he wanted, so he gave her just that. He slammed his cock deeper inside her and increased the pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room.

The more he fucked her, the harder it was for her to focus on the cocks in her mouth, and she had to let them go, and rest her face on the wooden table, drooling uncontrollably as the CEO slammed into her pussy.

That didn't stop the men from finding an angle in which they could offer their throbbing cocks to IU, and she gladly took them in. Whenever she was slurping on a dick, the others were either stroking their shafts or they were slapping them hard cocks on her messy face.

Her orgasm was building, and she could feel it approaching fast. The sensation of being stuffed full, the feeling of his balls smacking against her clit, and the way he was massaging it had her on the edge of climaxing. She tried to fight it, tried to hold back for as long as she could, but her body betrayed her, and she exploded in ecstasy, her body trembling and her pussy clamping down on the CEO's cock inside her.

"Good fucking slut. I thought I would never see this day...the day you came on my cock." He said, pulling out of her and slapping her ass with all his might, making her jolt slightly and let out a muffled whimper around the cock currently stuffed down her throat.

"I need a fucking rest. You boys have fun with that dumb slut." He added, grabbing a water bottle from the refrigerator before sitting down on a chair.

Initially, they behaved like a pack of hyenas, fighting each other to see which one could fuck IU's pussy first, but after arguing in for a while, they came to the conclusion that there was no point in fighting since they were all going to take turns on her.

The company's men were up first, with the lawyer taking her from behind whilst IU slobbered all over the bodyguard's huge black dick. She wrapped her hand around the base of his length and stroked him, as she swirled her tongue around the tip of his cock, making him groan in pleasure.

"Fuckkkk, suck my black cock just like that, bitch. I'm going to fuck the shit out of that ass later on."

IU looked at him and gave him a dirty look, as if she was challenging him to do his worst. She was a bit scared, since it had been ages since the last time she had a cock up her ass, but she was also too far gone in the pleasure to want anything else. She couldn't wait to have his massive black cock stretching her asshole.

The two of them were not holding anything back. They were using her like a fuckdoll, slamming into her over and over, forcing her to gag and choke on the bodyguard's black dick, and making her tits bounce with every thrust. It was the most intense sexual experience she had ever had, and she couldn't get enough of it.

Eventually, they made way for IU's own personnel to use her. Unlike the company's men, they went much slower, taking their time to enjoy her body. They also knew the situation IU was in, only doing this to get what she wanted, so they decided to go easy on her. As much as IU wanted to be taken, she was never going to complain about a little "break".

Being his first time with IU, her lawyer was thrusting in faster than her bodyguard, unable to contain his excitement of finally fucking the most respected soloist in South Korea. Her bodyguard let IU do whatever she wanted to his long, hard cock, and fortunately for him, that was rapid deepthroats, with a little bit of ball sucking mixed in.

Whenever she wasn't impaling her head on his shaft, her hand was taking care of it, sliding up and down on it as her mouth concentrated on his balls, taking them both in her mouth and giving them the attention they deserved.

"Fuckkkk, I love this cock so fucking much."

"Damn...it's been ages since the last time we did this, Miss Lee."

"Don't tell me about it. I need to release an album and go on tour again, so I can have this cock every day, before and after the shows." She said, before going back to worship his massive shaft.

The four guys kept swapping between themselves as they kept spitroasting IU, and they couldn't help but wonder how she was able to take all their dicks over and over again, and still talk and moan as they fucked both of her holes. She was like a machine, never getting tired, no matter how much cock was stuffing her.

IU kept getting pounded and passed around like a slut nonstop, loving every single second of it. The taste of their pre-cum on her tongue and the feeling of their big, thick cocks sliding in and out of her mouth and pussy was intoxicating, and the knowledge that she was bringing these men pleasure with her body was extremely arousing.

"Looks like you're having fun, Jieun...taking cock after cock, huh?" The CEO pointed out, to which IU simply nodded her head the best she could, with her lips sealed tight around her lawyer's cock.

"I can't hear you...I wanna hear you say it."

IU let go of the dick in her mouth before she answered his question.

"I do. I love taking all of your cocks. I need moreeee!" She said, her eyes full lust.

"I'm so glad we are in agreement, Jieun." He said, letting out a laugh, before turning around and making his way to the wall-mounted safe.

At this point, IU no longer cared about him using her real name. All she wanted was to drain their cocks so that she could have the contract that she so badly desired.

"Remember this? So many reunions in this office...you always asked what's inside, and I never told you. You spent several minutes before and after each meeting, trying to crack the code without any success."

"Are you ready to find out what's inside?"

IU, naked and on her knees in the middle of table, with spit running down her chin, simply nodded her head, eager to finally know the contents of the safe.

Her former manager didn't keep her waiting for too long. He entered the passcode and turned the handle, causing the safe door to open. Once opened, he pulled the door fully open, and showed her the content.

From what IU could see, inside the safe there were stacks of money, a bunch of documents, and a gun. However, that wasn't what her CEO was looking for. He reached inside, searching through the contents until his fingers closed around something specific. When he pulled out a thick coil of rope, IU's breath caught in her throat. She knew exactly what was about to happen.

She had never been tied up during sex before, and the thought of being restrained and used entirely for their pleasure sent a shiver down her spine. It was both intriguing and terrifying.

As IU tried to process what was coming, the company's bodyguard suddenly moved her aside, taking her spot where she had been kneeling. He lay down on his back, broad and steady, before he turned to her.

"Come here, bitch."

She obeyed, settling on top of him, her back pressing against his chest. He adjusted her, pulling her higher until her shoulders rested on his, her head hanging back over his shoulder. As for IU's own bodyguard stepped between her legs, waiting for the CEO's next orders.

The CEO handed him the rope, while gripping IU's legs. At the same time, the company's lawyers took hold of her arms, forcing them against her legs.

"Tie her up like this."

Her bodyguard hesitated for a split second before nodding.

"I'm sorry, Miss Lee."

"It's okay. I want this. Trust me."

Even with her reassurance, guilt flickered across his face. He made sure to tie the knots just loose enough to keep her comfortable, but still tight enough to keep her restrained.

When he was finished, the others slowly let go, leaving IU bound and immobilized, her limbs tightly secured, with only the strength of her muscles and the rope keeping her restrained.

The CEO placed himself in front of her and started to stroke his hard cock inches away from her face, whilst he played with her tits with his other.

"Are you ready Jieun?"

"Yes. Shove those big dicks inside me and pump me full of cum."

"My holes are yours to use and play with."

There was no more hesitation in IU's. There was no hole of hers that was off limits. She was bound and helpless, completely at their mercy, and she loved it.

With a grin on his face, the CEO pressed the tip of his cock against her lips, and they parted instantly, welcoming his shaft inside. As her tongue ran along his length, he started thrusting in and out of her mouth.

As for the bodyguards, they each grabbed hold of their shafts and pressed them against IU's respective holes, before slowly sliding them inside her, one inch at a time. Even with a cock down her throat, a loud moan could still be heard, as she felt the sensation of her pussy and asshole being filled with their thick shafts.

They started off slowly, savoring the moment and letting IU adjust to having their big cocks inside her. With her legs tied and her hands secured, there was no way for her to move or to guide their pace, so she was completely at their mercy, forced to lay there and take whatever they had to offer.

After a couple of minutes, they picked up the pace, and unsurprisingly out of the two bodyguards, it was IU's who was fucking her slowest, taking his time with her and making sure she was comfortable.

As much as IU loved having her bodyguard treating her like a delicate flower, she wanted more. She needed him to fuck her pussy harder and make her scream. But she couldn't speak, not when her throat was currently filled with a huge cock.

Her former manager was giving her no quarter, pounding her throat hard. He was thrusting in and out of her, filling her mouth with his length, and causing her to choke and gag on his cock.

"Look at you, taking these cocks so well. I should've done this sooner." He said, putting one hand on her breast and pinching her nipple.

Her other nipple was not getting any less attention. The company's bodyguard had his hand wrapped around it and was twisting it hard, making IU gasp sharply before letting out a muffled moan. He had his other hand around her waist, holding her still as he fucked her tight asshole with his big black cock.

"You are such an anal slut, taking my black dick like that."

"I'm going to fuck it hard until I cum deep inside it."

"Gonna make sure you won't be able to walk for a whole week after I'm done with you."

These weren't just words being thrown around—he was dead serious. The guy was relentless, using her body however he wanted, thrusting in and out of her ass with authority and claiming her asshole for himself.

The two lawyers were the only ones left without a place to put their cocks, so they decided to join the CEO, kneeling next to IU's head so that they could slap their hard cocks across her face. They were enjoying the view in front of them, seeing an airtight bound IU being used like a whore.

IU had been double penetrated a handful of times before, but not with cocks as big as these. She could feel their lengths sliding in and out of her holes, filling her up and stretching her to new limits. It was an incredible feeling, one that had her moaning around the dick currently stuffed down her throat.

"Are you enjoying this Jieun?" The CEO asked, obviously not getting an answer.

"Don't you know it's rude not to reply?" He added, pulling his cock out of her mouth.

Before IU could respond, his cock was already back inside her mouth, hitting the back of her throat a couple of times, before pulling it out once more, this time to slap her in the face.

"Answer me, Jieun."

"Mmmm, I'm enjoying it...a lot." She replied, her voice barely audible.

She was completely cock drunk, unable to think or process anything besides the sensation of her holes being filled.

"How does it feel, slut? To have a big cock inside each and every single one of your holes?"

"Taking all of them at the same time? ANSWER ME!"

IU took her sweet time, trying to form a sentence in her mind. In her defense, it was kinda hard to come up with anything when she had two massive cocks in her holes, and another two constantly hitting her face, with another one just inches away from her lips.

"Good...it...it feels good. But I want more, though. I need more, please."

"What more can we give you? What the fuck?"

"Your cum. Don't stop using me until you drain those balls inside me."

"And please tell my bodyguard to go as hard as he can."

"Fuck...you are nothing but a dumb, cockhungry slut."

"You heard her, big fella. Go wild on that pussy and make her scream." He said, slapping IU's bodyguard on the shoulder.

IU's bodyguard shot the CEO a sharp glare, his expression making it clear he didn’t appreciate the slap on his shoulder, or being ordered around. But then his gaze dropped to IU, her body trembling, her muffled moans pleading for more. He exhaled sharply through his nose, holding back his displeasure. This wasn’t about the CEO. It was about her. Tightening his grip on her waist, he pushed his frustration aside and focused on giving IU exactly what she wanted—his big cock, deep inside her.

IU let out a sharp gasp as his hips started hammering into her. The sudden force took her by surprise, but the pain quickly morphed into pleasure. His cock was pounding her pussy with the kind of intensity she had never experienced before—not even with him. The noise of their bodies colliding echoed throughout the room, as he repeatedly thrust into her, holding nothing back.

The same thing could be said for CEO and his bodyguard. They were using her like a ragdoll, hammering away at her holes and fucking her brains out, showing her no mercy. IU's body belonged to them, and they were not going to stop until they had drained their balls inside her.

IU was an absolute mess. Her arms and legs ached from being tied up, a dull numbness creeping in as circulation slowed. Sweat coated her entire skin, making her body slick against the one beneath her. With her head hanging upside down, the rush of blood made her feel lightheaded, a dizzy haze settling over her senses. Her neck throbbed from the unnatural angle, but she barely registered the discomfort, too lost in the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body.

Her pussy and ass were sore, the sensation of her holes being stretched and filled to the brim was borderline unbearable. But at the same time, it was also an addictive feeling, and she couldn't get enough. She didn't care how sore she would be after this experience, all she wanted was to drain their balls dry.

Luckily for her, she didn't have to wait much longer. Her former manager's dick was starting to pulse, the signs that he was close. He had been using her mouth like his personal fleshlight for the past several minutes now, with IU having long lost the ability to lick and suck his shaft properly. The constant throat fucking had not only left her jaw was tired, but had also left her in a complete daze, and she had been reduced to nothing but a tool for him to fuck.

"Do you want my cum, Jieun?" He asked, pulling his cock out of her mouth.

IU tried to reply, but no sound came out. His dick had stolen almost all of her ability to speak, leaving her pretty much incapable of doing anything else besides moaning and groaning around his shaft.

"Well, I hope you're ready, cuz I'm about to fill your slutty little mouth."

He held her head in place and rammed his cock down her throat as fast as he could, hitting the back of it several times, before finally erupting. IU's eyes went wide and a muffled, gagging sound could be heard as she felt the hot spurts of his cum splashing inside her mouth and hitting the back of her throat.

After what seemed like ages, he finally pulled out of her mouth, and IU was left with no other choice but to swallow every last drop of his cum.

"Fuck...I've waited for this moment for longer than you can imagine..."

"Thank you for caring about such a worthless thing, Jieun." He added, getting off the table and stumbling towards a chair.

With the CEO now out of the picture, she thought her mouth would catch a break, but the lawyers had other ideas. Both of them were eager to have their dicks stuffed down any hole of hers, and with her mouth being the only one available, they shoved their cocks inside, forcing her to suck on their shafts at the same time.

It was one thing to have three cocks inside her, but to have four of them...it was something entirely different. It was too much for IU, and even with having an orgasm earlier on, it wasn't long until she reached another climax.

Her bodyguard felt her pussy walls tighten around his dick, her orgasm crashing into her like a tidal wave, and it was enough to push him over the edge. He had dumped his load inside her many times before, but this was different. He was always alone with her in those previous times, and now he was here, cumming inside her as she was being taken and used like a slut by everyone in the room.

IU barely had any time to process that her bodyguard had given her a creampie before she felt another thick load of cum being deposited inside her, this time in her round ass.

"I told you I was going to ruin you and make a mess out of your ass, bitch." He said, pulling his massive black cock out of her asshole.

She had no way to see the damage his big black cock had done, but judging from the feeling, she knew her asshole was gaping and stretched wide open. Her bodyguard had the perfect view, and even he was shocked by seeing IU's gaping asshole, and the cum dripping out of it.

With the bodyguards done with her holes, they decided to pull her to the side and untie her. As soon as they did so, IU's limbs came crashing down, and they were so numb that she barely had the strength to move them. She lay there motionless, her entire body aching and stinging, the ache settling deep into her bones.

However, that wasn't stopping her from having more. Despite everything, her desire was still burning, and she wanted more cocks, more cum, and most importantly, the contract.

"Cum...please..."

It was all she could say, and the lawyers didn't need more convincing. They moved IU and placed her on her knees, on top of the table. She was so out of it, that her head just kept falling forward, and her own lawyer had to grab it, or else they would just have to be pleased with covering her hair in their seed.

Neither of them wanted that, and neither did IU. Her face might've said otherwise, but she was eager to get their loads plastered all over her face, and they were excitedly stroking their shafts, getting ready to give her the facial of her life.

IU could barely see the outlines of the cocks that were now jerking off in front of her, but that didn't stop her from sticking out her tongue and opening her mouth wide, begging for their cum.

It was a matter of seconds before their cocks exploded at the same time, and she felt their warm cum being splattered across her face. They shot load after load of their cum all over her pretty face, covering it completely.

She looked unrecognizable. IU's hair was messy, her body was covered in sweat, and now her face was covered in multiple layers of cum, with most of it dripping down her chin. Her lawyer let go of her head, and she collapsed face first on the wooden table.

The CEO, already with his clothes back on, picked up the contract and signed it, before tossing it on the table once again.

"Hope it was worth it, Jieun."

"And don't forget to clean this mess." He added, instructing everyone to leave the room, including IU's men.

IU heard the sound of the doors being closed, and she was now alone in the room. After the intense experience she had just gone through, her brain was still struggling to process anything. Her head was spinning, and the taste of their cum was still present in her mouth, the scent lingering in her nostrils.

For the next fifteen minutes, IU didn’t move. She lay there, sprawled out on the table, her naked body sticky with sweat and cum, cooling rapidly in the empty room. The silence felt deafening, broken only by her slow, shallow breaths. A shiver ran down her spine as the cold air pricked at her damp skin, making her long for the warmth of a bath, the feeling of hot water washing away every trace of what had just happened.

Her thoughts were sluggish, drifting in and out, until the faint sound of the doors opening pulled her back. She could hear footsteps, but her vision was still blurry, and she couldn't make out who was walking into the room.

"You're still here? I thought you would have left by now." The CEO said.

"Don't mind me. Just using the bathroom. Gotta take a quick piss."

"No, s-stop..."

The CEO did stop in his tracks, not because of what she said, but mostly because he couldn't hear what was coming out of her mouth, her voice so low that it was barely audible.

"Use me...use me as your personal toilet."

He couldn't believe it. IU already had the contract and here she was, still asking for more, her mind undoubtedly broken beyond repair from the experience.

The CEO didn't waste any time, unzipping his pants and pulling his cock out. With one hand on his dick and the other on the back of her head, he lowered his cock towards her face, and let go. His warm piss started spraying out, covering IU's face, and then slowly running down her forehead and onto her eyes and nose.

Wanting to humiliate even further, he stood up and started pissing all over her naked body, coating it in his piss. Her skin turned golden under the yellow stream, his hot piss splashing down her tits and stomach. It was the ultimate humiliation, the final degradation.

IU didn't know what had come over her, but the idea of being used and degraded by this man, who was once her best friend, was so incredibly hot.

"You really are no different from all the other sluts in this industry."

He spat on her face and zipped up his pants. He took one last look at IU, laying there motionless, her naked body soaked in sweat, cum and his piss.

"What a fucking whore."

He walked away, and once again, the doors were shut, leaving her alone. There was no light at the end of the tunnel for IU. She had no idea how she was going to get herself out of this, but right now, she couldn't even bring herself to think about it. She was exhausted, her limbs felt like lead and her muscles were on fire. Her body was aching and begging for relief.

As IU lay there, a single tear rolled down her cheek. She was overwhelmed, her body wracked with emotion, the weight of everything she had just done crashing down on her. It was too much...too much.

But even then, even as she cried and sobbed, a part of her didn't regret any of it. The contract was hers and even though her dignity had been stripped from her, and her body was completely and utterly ruined, she couldn't deny that the feeling of having cum in all her holes, her face, and the CEO pissing all over her was so incredibly satisfying, to the point where she was already looking forward to the next meeting.

#iu smut #lee ji eun #kpop #iu #kpop smut

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wizard-of-interesting-failure · 2 days ago

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No you know what I'm gonna take a second here. [Highly unhinged rant at the fundamental injustice, inefficiency, and sheer bloody-minded stupidity of current social technology below the cut]

Absolute horse piss. God, even setting aside how she deserved better from everyone around her and had the same right to a fully accepted authentic life as everyone else, imagine what she could have done if she was supported instead of being treated like this. If she wasn't fired from her job, ejected from her support network, and didn't have to constantly advocate for herself and people like her to be treated like human beings (which was brave and good work worthy of being honored but should never have been necessary in the first place, like rescuing people from a building that collapsed because it was built like shit)

Like okay I don't talk about this that often but I'm a kidney transplant recipient and I think a lot about how the field (like every other avenue of human endeavour) has been crippled by short-sighted bigotry. STEM fields are still hugely male-dominated (sidebar STEM is not the be all and end all creatives y'all super valid and important and your work is foundational to the functioning of STEM and human endeavour and quality of life as a whole; this is just the example that highlights the point for me personally) and it's like. If we didn't push literally everyone except cishet white guys well off enough to afford tertiary education away from everything in the area, would I just have an artificial kidney by now? Who knows?? I'm probably never fucking going to because stupid nonsense.

It's the same shit. And don't get me wrong, the individual human tragedy of unnecessary hardships on the part of this (and every) trans woman (and so many other groups besides) is morally horrible and an indictment of culture as a whole. But we'd probably have fucking blade runner robots or quantum computers or working fusion reactors or Actual Cool AI Instead Of The Current Horseshit by this point! Or a real Mars colony instead of some blowhard yammering on about it while he inflicts suffering on untold millions! Or God knows what else!

And don't even get me started on lack of opportunity for almost everybody in the world. It's like that quote about all the potential einsteins who were born and died impoverished without ever even touching a science textbook.

Like you wanna know why we're struggling so much? Population increase is supposed to mean more hands and minds on every problem but it doesn't because...ugh! Imagine if we cared about global poverty. Imagine how many more lives free of hunger. Imagine how many more people thinking about how to solve everything that needs solving.

I just. The morality is bad enough. It's a great evil by itself. But the sheer fucking gall of dressing it up behind progress and hard decisions. Do you have any idea how much "progress" this costs us? What a good investment humanity would be if we pulled our heads out of our asses for two seconds? What you, personally, have lost because the person who would have given it to you lived and died in preventable despair?

Again, I have to emphasise. People are worthy without contributing huge individual achievements to the arc of history. Society is a collective and everything everyone does adds to the weave and adds up to what we as a whole achieve, there's no real separating out of "this person did this thing" when they were supported by the entire collective of humanity past and present, and even if there was achievement is not the sole benchmark by which life is measured. A better life for everyone is the point, and the idea of "if I don't think you're contributing then you don't deserve anything" is a big part of how we got here in the first place.

There is no culling of the "unproductive". They are the ones who need this most of all. Every life matters, every life (yes, even that one) is a roll of the dice for a miracle of insight (not just in STEM; it all fucking matters and it always has), every life is its own purpose, every life is worthy, to save one life is to save all of mankind, to enrich one life is to enrich all of mankind, to be a life that is enriched is to be enriched on behalf of all of mankind, and none of these facts depend upon any others. There's a mind in there! A self-perceiving miracle of reality! Of course it's precious beyond measure regardless of context, you dipshit!

We can celebrate great advances and exceptional performances without ignoring that we, as a whole, made these things possible too. And we can recognise that these things are valuable because of what they do for everyone, and that the more everyone there is the more valuable they are, and that in order for making life better for the worse off to matter the worse off themselves must matter, and that every life is worthy and every soul is sacred and the people using Lynn's technology to help with their disabilities or live hidden from those who wish them harm or resist the forces I'm talking about here are why the technology is a force for good in the first place.

But I weep for the fact that we have squandered almost all human potential across all of history in short-sighted power-seeking and arbitrary outgroup punishments, and everyone everywhere has suffered for it. Yes, even the stupid billionaires; they'd probably live longer if they hadn't stepped on the people who would have discovered the cure for whatever ends up killing them. Today's average well-off human knows riches that would be the envy of the kings of old, and the average human if none of this was a problem would know riches that would be the envy of the oligarchs of today.

Lives being lived in ways that diminish other lives are ideally changed minimally so that they no longer do (this is the maximisation of collective freedom) and consigned to any other fate only with great sorrow. Even if it is right to do so, I do not believe it is ever righteous. Even if it is not regrettable that it was done in the present, it is regrettable that the past produced a present that required it, and a future that does better should ever be sought.

Just...fucking stupid. That we're so willing impoverish ourselves so that some other people we don't like for no reason can be impoverished more. That the only thing keeping us from Star Trek (not just the spaceships but everything else too) is petty fucking spite (and physics but who knows what backdoor bullshit we could find to work around that).

That Lynn Conway's life, extraordinary and laudable as it was, was made smaller by this rank fucking idiocy. I do not aim to diminish her work by considering what it could have been. I aim to diminish the age she was forced to live in.

Rest in peace, Lynn. You deserved unfathomably, infinitely fucking better, and we are all richer for what you managed to pull off in spite of it all.

#not wizardposting #😡#I am massively privileged and this is very off the cuff so there are probably parts that are condescending or ignorant #or carry implications or biases i am unaware of #but i really hope the general sentiment comes across regardless #this has been on my chest forever and oh look! proper medication means i can finally say something. fancy fucking that #posting the take to find out if part of it is shit

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bananayuyu · 3 days ago

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Walker, Stalker

Pairing: Yunho x f reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 6.6k

Summary: The captain of the soccer team and the strange new girl who'd just moved in next door. Who would have thought that you and Yunho had the same fucked up fantasies?

Warnings: MDNI, smut, reader is short, size kink kinda, voyeurism, masturbation, sex toys, collars, stalking, degradation, mean yunho, unprotected sex, cnc vibes, please don't read if that isn't your thing!

A/n: this is inspired by that video above of Yunho walking and also this instagram post that had me losing my damn mind. @yuyusbabygirl thanks for making me insane. I hope you all enjoy <333

The air was cool and crisp the day you moved into your new dorm, campus nearly empty for spring break. As your beat up sedan pulled up to the curb you sighed, taking in the rare moment of silence.

It had been a harsh two weeks following your expulsion. And in all of the hiding and lying, you'd worn yourself thin. But what were you to do, tell the truth? If anyone here now, or anyone there then, heard the true reason for your transfer, you knew you'd never be able to show your face anywhere. Your accomplice had promised to keep his mouth shut too, promised to keep this whole thing a secret just as you had. And you had reason to believe him; his job was on the line, not just his reputation.

By then you were a jaded sophomore, already over everything about college; the power dynamics, the social expectations, the politics and bureaucracy that hung over all the professors. You'd learned too much about that, getting involved with him. It had been a bad idea, of course. But you had an insatiable need to fulfill certain fantasies, and try as you might you were never able to make the rational choice when it really mattered.

Moving in all on your own made for a tough day, but you were thankful for the solitude. Your friends and professors at your last school had been constantly asking you why for weeks; I thought you hated that school? All it's really got going for it is it's sports program.

You should have been more sad to leave them all behind; yes, you should have been, but your brain didn't seem to work the way it should, and you'd never been very attached to anyone. No one in the world could understand your true desires; and though you always tried to live as normally as you could, you'd realized this last year there was little point in truly trying to suppress it. The suppressing had only made it worse, which led to the shit storm you'd just passed through; you were determined not to make that mistake again.

The week passed in relative peace; with campus nearly empty you could walk about and get used to your new space, the new routes you'd have to take to your classes, the drive to the nearest grocery store. You'd heard mixed things about this place, but the cooler, wetter weather here meant that trees and bushes grew in abundance, and the grass by the student union building was actually soft enough to lay on. Your birthday was about to come, at the end of the week, and you resolved to buy yourself a little gift to celebrate. You'd done well to escape that potentially disastrous situation; you deserved a little treat for being so positive about the ridiculous move you'd just had to make.

You woke the morning of Friday with anticipation coursing through you, your legs and core already tingling with delight. The package wasn't set to arrive until the afternoon, so you busied yourself with what you could; going for another walk to double check your new routes, stopping by the store again to buy yourself a little cake to have with dinner. No one knew you were turning twenty today, but you didn't mind; you were going to celebrate tonight in your own way, in the way you liked, and that was all that mattered.

When you arrived back at the dorm in the mid afternoon the parking lot still looked relatively empty save for a few cars that you'd not yet seen. You had been so alone these few days, already growing used to it; but that was to change as soon as you entered the front doors and headed through the kitchen towards the stairs. As you walked past the refrigerator door slammed sharply; you jumped and peered back, locking eyes with a tall and broad man, his brown hair floppy and messily pushed back, his grey hoodie adorned with the school's bright green logo.

The eyes he fixed you with were dark and domineering, but he obviously looked surprised, seeing a new face here. The building wasn't tiny, but it wasn't huge by any means; you'd always imagined dorms to be massive enough for relative anonymity, but the one you'd been selected for housed only about twenty people, few enough that he'd certainly know everyone well by now. You snapped your eyes away from his quick and made for the stairs, your small cake clasped between your hands, your whole body trembling for some unknown reason. Maybe these few days you'd gotten so used to solitude that simply seeing another human ws scaring you; but really, if you were honest with yourself, it was something about the look in his eyes, the way they looked intense and dead all at the same time.

It was roughly an hour later that there was a knock on your door; opening it you found his face again, eyes still piercing yours when they met. Up close he looked massive, towering over you so much you had to look nearly straight up to see him, his shoulders so wide you couldn't see them all with the door only partially ajar.

"This came for you," he said, holding up your package, and your heart about fell out of your ass.

"Oh, thanks," you responded, swallowing hard, your mind racing with the knowledge of what was inside and his huge hands that somehow reached around the entire box. Your eyes fixed on the package as you grabbed it from him; your hands brushed, and a jolt of static snapped between your fingers. You jumped back, breath knocked out of you, before you stared back at him. He was staring at you too, eyebrows low, but his lips were turned up in the whisper of a smirk. You couldn't read him at all; you gaped as you watched him walk back to his room, the one right next to yours, and close his door without another word.

As you placed the package down it was obvious in an instant; there were multiple lines of tape that had graced the cardboard box, residue lines that were unmistakably in different spots that the current tape. Had he fucked with your package, had he opened it? You shook your head, feeling crazy; it was probably just a mistake that had been made at the warehouse, and the package had to be opened and taped up again. You didn't understand what it was about this guy that was shaking you so deeply. You were tired of feeling on edge, that was all the last few weeks had been. You needed to finally relax, that had been your plan for tonight; you pushed your worries from your mind and ripped open your package, immediately forgetting them all as you stared at the beauty in front of you.

A collar, with tiny spikes on the inside, that tightened if you pulled on the leash. And a stunning eight-inch dildo, purple and sparkly, a massive suction cup on the end. You'd had a routine down for months but had thrown out all your old toys during that period of suppression; now it was time to start building your collection again, and taking care of these sexual needs yourself. Your cake sat tantalizing you on your desk; but it would have to wait, you needed to try out your new toys.

You tied the leash to the back corner of your bed, making sure the rope was quite short; already the process was bringing you to the dark and sultry place your head liked to be, and you could feel yourself getting wet even before you'd grabbed the dildo, suctioning to the wall at just the right height. You started licking it, teasing it, getting lost trying to take it down your throat as far as you could; after gagging it was soaked with your spit, and in an instant you ripped off all your clothes and turned around, securing the collar around your neck carefully and tugging on the leash to make sure all was secure.

Then you positioned yourself in front of it; lining up your soaking entrance with the dildo you sunk onto it slowly, groaning at the stretch it was giving you, a sensation you hadn't felt in far too long. You liked feeling like you were splitting open from the inside, liked when it felt a bit painful, like it was too much for you to take. As you rocked forward your body weight pulled at the leash, squeezing the collar against the side of your throat deliciously, relenting slightly as you thrust back again. You started keeping a rhythm, the collar squeezing on the upswing, the dildo hitting your cervix the other way. This was what you'd needed to relax; the mix of pain and pleasure was numbing your mind just right, and as you continued to thrust your pleasure grew, your moans gentle as you tried your best to keep your volume down in this building you were no longer alone in.

You ripped several orgasms from yourself, over and over again, before you heard it. You'd lost count at that point; you were about to have another when you heard the unmistakable sound of metal creaking outside your window, and flashed up your eyes to see a grey hoodie moving past the glass, someone clearly on the fire escape outside. It all happened so fast, it didn't seem real; you didn't want to lose the pleasure you were feeling, so you started up your movements again, this time keeping your eyes trained in that direction. You'd lost it momentarily but the orgasm was building again; your mouth was slack open as you breathed hard, trying still to keep your noises soft, the tension in your core building even harder than it had earlier. This was bound to be a hard one, you knew it, and just as it started to wash over you, just as your legs began to tremble and your whole body erupted in flames of pleasure, you saw his face at the side of your window, his intense dead eyes meeting yours. Unable to stop yourself you came; right here infront of him, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, and as soon as you pulled off he vanished, his face disappearing from view.

It was undeniably awkward the next time you saw him in the kitchen, later that night, putting the left over half of your cake in the fridge. He was still in his hoodie, still looked exactly the same; you'd showered, changed, tried to wipe yourself clean of the slight debauchery of your evening. Compared to some of the things you'd done in your life it was nothing, but you were so scared of getting kicked out again, you had tried to recalibrate your understanding of where the line should really be.

He just stared at you again. No greeting, no hello, those dark eyes never leaving you as you walked past. You too, said nothing; what could you say? You were so convinced of your own insanity that you were questioning if you had really seen his face. Maybe you'd just wanted to, had hoped he'd be there watching. He was by all accounts your type; you like them huge and tall, like them to scare you and intimidate you.

Over the next weeks you learned just how intimidating he was; when he stalked around campus he could part a sea of other students, no one daring to step in his way. His shoulders swaggered and his head hung down a bit, and all it gave off was a sense of complete confidence and superiority. He dressed nice, was clearly doing well for himself. It took some time, but soon you learned he was captain of the school's soccer team, played right back, was feared by everyone, and was all that any girl around seemed to want to talk to you about.

You didn't even have to be subtle about your questions; people wanted to offer up everything they knew, from minor injuries he'd had, how the last game on the road had gone for him, who his parents were, his class schedule, everything. People on campus basically stalked him, you realized; which wasn't exactly uncommon these days, especially as he posted on socials enough to provide the dots to be connected. But to everyone he seemed uninterested in them; he barely followed anyone else, only his family and a few other boys on the team, and was never seen to be leaving comments on anyone's posts. He didn't give a fuck to know everyone else; that he'd made clear over his four years here, and as he was set to play professionally come the fall, everyone figured his attention was laser focused on his sport.

It would have shocked them all to know what really had started to fill his evenings; you had a regular schedule of masturbating, that he'd figured out right away, and it was all too easy for him to sneak out on the fire escape between your windows and catch a glimpse of you, complete ecstasy on your face as that collar bore down on your neck, your eyes rolling back. Behind your building a line of massive pine trees lay like a wall, and out here he could touch himself without a soul seeing, so long as none of the other students in this building looked out windows that faced this direction. He didn't know what had come over him, other than you'd unlocked that dark disturbed part that he'd hid away years ago; that first day he'd seen you in the kitchen he was awe-struck, your body impeccably curvy, your height minute compared to his, the slightly frightened look in your eye going straight to his crotch.

When he opened your package later and inspected the contents, his mind spun at the thought that not only was the girl who moved in next to him unbelievably hot, she was a glutton for pain, from the looks of it. Unfulfilled fantasies ran through his mind, fantasies he'd always known were wrong, disturbing. But your frightened little presence had him constantly thinking of them; he couldn't help it, he needed to know more. He'd always been one to use his computer skills for his own gain; it took a while, but he finally tracked down the name of the new girl just assigned to this dorm building a week ago, and with that he was up and running, searching far and wide to find anything he could about you.

Nothing about your family or friends was findable; you'd barely ever posted pictures with other people, but he could tell from the jump that there was something off about you, something strange about the way you'd just shown up here during spring break. He'd found the name of your old school easily; but breaking into their system would be a project, and with classes and practices of the upmost importance now, he'd have to be patient to find out why'd you'd left. Ordering you a little present, however, wouldn't take much time, and soon enough he was standing at your door and knocking again.

Not a word had passed between the two of you in weeks; just fearful and tense glances, or the fierce look you gave if you caught him in your window. You were used to it by now, and appreciated the intrusion; it added to your little escapades, and while you took time building up your toy collection again, you were grateful for it.

You opened your door as you had that first day, slowly and deliberately. As soon as you spotted him your eyes widened a bit, your grip on the handle tightening, your face turned up to look at him.

"This package came for you," he said, almost identical to your first interaction. He had to hold back laughter at the look of pure confusion that crossed your face; you hadn't ordered anything, and were positively vexed. But soon you saw the the package was addressed wrong; this address, but his room number, and the name Jeong Yunho.

You swallowed, grabbing the package from him and nearly slamming your door shut. Inside you sat on the floor, heaving. What the fuck he was playing at, you weren't sure. If this was a joke, he'd surely be knocking on your door again now, right? You set the package down and pushed it away from you, trying to collect yourself. More than ever your demeanor was one of panic and unassuredness; even with your daily ministrations you hadn't been able to completely calm yourself. You needed more, you needed to order more actual packages for yourself and get yourself off the way you needed.

You left it until evening, until your homework was done and your body was begging you to satiate it's needs. You opened it gingerly; a new collar sat inside, bright pink with a bell on it, and a long line of pink rope. As you lifted it you found a page of instructions; under that, what looked like a small box-cutting knife.

Follow these instructions, were the only words written in pen; everything else was printed, words explaining how to tie your own wrist restraint and tighten it down by pulling with your feet. You peered over at the knife, at the collar, and you could see plain as day what all this meant. For a moment you felt an almost sobering sickness come over you; the fact that this wasn't making you go and report him immediately was all the indication you needed that you hadn't really changed at all. It was in your nature, to like this kind of attention; attention you shouldn't want, attention that was wrong and invasive and all together disturbing.

You set the box aside and went to sleep that night without a bit of sexual pleasure, Yunho sticking his head around your window only to find your room dark and your small form curled up underneath your bed sheets.

He panicked, a bit, that night. Maybe it had been way too far, of course it had been way to far; what a crazy thing to do when the two of you had barely spoken any words to each other. You clearly were a bit kinky, but maybe he'd read it all wrong; maybe you weren't as depraved as him, maybe that little spiked collar didn't really hurt as bad as he thought it did. You made it a remarkable week without masturbating; your longest record in many years, and it had his edginess slowly building. You swore you could see it on him when you passed him in the kitchen or the hall; even once out by the fountain, as you walked towards the fine arts building, you saw his jaw set in tension as you walked by him, eyeing him only for a moment before turning your head away and smirking, acting with all your might like you weren't affected by him one bit.

You were only waiting to make it more fun for yourself, in the end. That Saturday you broke, doing just as the instructions had told, and as you pumped your hips back against that purple dildo the little bell on your collar rang and rang, loud enough that you worried a house mate might hear and come knocking about it. As soon as he heard rustling in your room he was up and outside; watching the whole scene unfold, watching you mess up the knot three times before finally getting it right. You eyed him nearly the whole time this time, and he didn't even reach into his pants, instead enjoying the view for all it was and stamping it permanently in his memory to use for as long as he could.

When you'd finally finished, the sun well and truly set and the air cool outside, you looked at him pathetically, the knife in hand. How you were going to get the knot off yourself, you weren't sure; even with the knife it was a struggle, for the angle your hand needed to reach was virtually impossible. You tried several times over, but failed each time; his smile grew and grew, and it was the first time you'd ever seen any expression on his face other than that of pure anger. His lips curled up at the corners slightly, his cheek bones popped; he looked positively terrifying and it made you actually whimper in response, your eyes darting away. You tried for the next hour to get the ropes cut off, but there was no way you could; you went to bed that night without peeing, your wrists still bound. There was no way to get dressed, no way in hell that you'd be leaving this room even if you could. You'd finally started to spark up a few casual friendships with two girls who lived downstairs, and on the off chance that they or anyone saw you scrambling to the bathroom, you decided to stay in.

Your sleep was fretful, but more for how turned on you were than anything; you couldn't stop putting your bound hands between your legs, feeling how fucking wet you still were, coming somehow again and again. It must have been early morning when you finally fell asleep; and then it was only a few hours later when he snuck into your room, your eyes barely opening and your consciousness barely there as he sliced you free of the restraint, running back to his room with the knife and rope in hand. All you'd felt was a large hand on yours and your restraints falling away; later when you woke you had no recollection of it, confused when you tried to find the rope and knife and couldn't see them anywhere in your small room.

Your wrists were badly bruised form it all; you'd had to wear long sleeve shirts for weeks even though the weather was heating up. The packages continued too, and you realized he was very selective with when he gave you them, only coming when the two other boys who lived down the hall from you were gone. Both were on the soccer team as well, so he knew they were at their study group for Japanese, one they never missed because the grad student who ran it was one they both had the hots for.

It was weeks of debauchery; more gifts, more collars and dildos, once a beautiful, bright pink shiny vibrator that must have cost hundreds of dollars. That became your favorite; along with the collar with the bell, which you combined with your spiked collar for the pain, you stuck that vibrator between your legs and rubbed yourself forward and back, coming harder than you had in ages. It was almost getting you there to that point you needed to be; but you still always made him wait, still never used these new toys too soon after you'd received them. His frustration was clearly only growing; a few times he'd left short notes in the boxes, I own you or Your secret is safe with me, slut. But you never responded to them, never said a thing. You eyed him if you passed by, by chance; but by then he was starting to try to strike up conversation with you. You never responded, only looked at him with those pathetic scared eyes and maybe scratched at your arm, pulling back the fabric of your shirt to reveal your bruises, or wore a low cut top and pushed your tits together "accidentally," eyeing him afterwards.

Suddenly the term was almost over, and you couldn't believe it; you weren't doing amazingly by any means, but you were set to pass all of your classes, as long as you didn't bomb any finals. It was a stressful week but you made it through, barely thinking of Yunho and his gifts, not having time for it.

"How are your finals going?" he asked you when you passed him on the stairs; you only ran away, sprinting up to your room, closing the door quickly. Later a note slid under your door; stop pretending like you can run from me. You only chuckled at it, slipping inside and taping it in your journal. He loved to be threatening in his notes or with the looks he gave you, but you were pretty sure at this point he didn't have the balls to actually do anything about it. On the whole it was probably a good thing; summer was about to come, and you'd stay to complete extra credits, but he'd be gone for good and graduated, and you'd never have to worry that he'd get you in trouble all over again.

"The final soccer game of the season is this Saturday, you should come!" your two friends told you as you sipped coffees in the student union building, your last final behind you.

"Wait, tomorrow Saturday?" you asked, and they nodded.

"I know you don't like to come out on the weekends but they're so fun, and the dance team performs during half time, they have fireworks usually for the last game of the year too. And there's always a big party afterwards at the huge frat by the stadium, Wooyoung texted me yesterday about it," one said, voice bright as can be.

"Wooyoung?" you asked.

"Wait, you seriously don't know who Wooyoung is?" she asked you.

"No, should I?" you said, trying to keep the sarcasm from your tone.

"He's the one who lives in the room next to Yunho's, just down the hall from you," she said, and it brought forth the image of long shaggy black hair and chiseled abs, the boy loving to walk around half naked whenever he had the chance.

"Oh, yeah, of course," you laughed, smiling at her.

"You should come to the party, seriously, it's so much fun," your other friend added.

"I don't love frat houses-"

"This one isn't like most of them, seriously, it's very nice and the parties are always actually fun," she said, cutting you off.

"I'll think about it," you chuckled, thinking of the healing bruises on your neck, your last bout with your collar having been a bit on the rough side. What you'd wear to the game and party to cover it all up, you had no idea.

But by Saturday you'd thought enough about it, and with the stress of finals behind you, there was enough of your brain trying to push you towards the health and normality of being involved in college life that you decided to go. You'd wear your favorite green hoodie; it wasn't officially school merch, but the color was close enough, and it covered the fading bruises on the side of your neck well enough. Paired with short spandex shorts and your white tennis shoes, you looked preppy and in spirit enough to fit in. The bus to the stadium was uncomfortably packed but your friends knew the best seats; they ushered you through everywhere with ease because they came for every game, and thankfully didn't make you sit in the student section like you'd expected.

Down near one of the corners you had a wonderful view, and as the players started to exit the tunnel the stands erupted in rumbling, everyone stamping their feet against the metal bleachers and waving school flags high and proud. Most of the players ran out; but then you spotted Yunho with a number nine on his back, walking in that way he always did, his shoulders swaying, his eyes fixed to the ground some distance in front of him, his jersey hanging off his lean broad frame in the most tantalizing way. His swagger from his angle was too much to handle; his back to you, you knew he had no idea you were there, would never expect it. He looked massive next to the other players; you didn't know much about the sport, but looking down now it seemed like soccer wasn't typically played by tall guys. His frame was a scary sight to the other team, it was obvious; as the game started it seemed they all dreaded when they came into contact with him, and as the minutes rolled on by you couldn't help the visceral reaction you were having to seeing just how good he was.

After a while, a whistle was blown; players started walking off the field as the dance team walked on, and your friend answered your look of confusion by telling you it was halftime. Like before most of the players ran back to the tunnel, but Yunho walked behind, talking with one of the coaches. He was facing you now and you stared at his face, flushed a bit but set in such a stony look of concentration. Suddenly he turned his head as if to stretch his neck; he caught sight of you, and he stopped momentarily in his tracks, doing a double take. His coach seemed to asked him what he'd seen; he looked away quickly and waved his hand while undoubtedly saying it was nothing. But the whole second half he was shooting daggers your way; now that the two teams had switched sides he was mostly facing you, and somehow even so far away you felt yourself shivering under his glare, the intensity of it not lost no matter how big the distance between you was.

Fine, you'd said, agreeing to go to the party. Your friends were so excited as you'd never been out with them before, and you too were excited if you really were honest, having missed letting loose a little, getting in the spirit of the true college experience. You had sworn you hated it all a few months ago; but that was before and during expulsion, when everything was blowing up in your face. As strange as it had felt you'd enjoyed the game, and as your friends showed you the way across the street, you were baffled by just how many people were walking that way with you, this house no doubt very large.

You all waited for a while in the backyard, the house apparently not ready for action just yet. Behind the frat was a large forest, and already people were drinking beers they'd snuck from the stadium, the air buzzing with anticipation. Finally the back doors were opened; there stood the entire soccer team, most still in part or all of their jersey's, and the group in the backyard cheered for them, their effort tonight apparently something worth celebrating. You weren't even sure if they'd won; you were preoccupied, and knew so little about most sports that it was hard to keep up. But you were having fun, the whole point of the evening.

It got off to a comfortable start, and you were feeling good with these two girls, giggling about your lack of knowledge as you sipped a seltzer, your first drink out in too long. Inside the house was beautiful, and though it was filled with many people you weren't being bothered. You fell into a calm state, almost forgetting any reason to be worried; that was until you spotted Yunho plodding down the stairs, clearly having showered, his hair only slightly damp and his clothes fresh and clean.

You were sure he hadn't spotted you, as your height often kept you hidden in groups. But you couldn't have been more wrong; as soon as he made it to the floor he was walking towards the kitchen, then back to greet everyone in a slow dance of moving closer and closer to you and your little group.

"Can we move outside?" you asked them, sensing the danger, his head sticking up above most of the rest of the crowd. He wasn't being obvious by any means, but you could see it; he was sneaking glances at you, was keeping an eye on your whereabouts the whole time.

"Yeah, you feeling hot?" one asked you.

"Yeah, and I can't take my hoodie off, I didn't wear anything under it," you joked, using the excuse she'd just put in your lap to cover up the real reason you wanted to move. As you three snaked between people you caught his eye only briefly; it was a blunt and scary look, and you could almost see the fires lighting in his brain, his anger at your movement so obvious. But you were just doing what felt right; just following your gut, following the instincts inside you.

Once outside you resumed sipping your drinks and chatting away; a few other people had already had the same idea as you, though everyone stuck to the paved area out back, the forest now dark and spooky with the sun fully set. Things were peaceful again for a moment, the air still and quiet out here, only the distant call of some bird disturbing the silence.

But then he exited the house too; now he was stalking towards you, unmistakably, his eyes fixed on you as he swayed the way he always did, his steps deliberate and strong and fast, his gaze as dead and dark as you'd ever seen it. Before you could register what was happening he grabbed you by the arm; your seltzer flew off into the bushes and you scrambled to keep up with him.

"I'm tired of these fucking games," he growled, his grip tight and painful.

"What games?" you whispered, running along to keep up with his huge strides, your eyes wide as you looked at him.

"You know what fucking games," he said, voice low and dark as you both stumbled onto the grass, the forest coming into view in all of it's darkness and mystery.

"What- what are you doing?" you asked, trying to pull away from him now, the grip starting to feel truly painful even though the sleeve of your hoodie was protecting your arm.

"What the fuck do you think?" he spit, spinning you around and hitting your back against the trunk of a tree, his features almost obscured in the faint light from the house behind.

"I- I don't know," you cried as he pinned your wrists together with one hand, holding them in front of you as he caged you in against the tree.

"Don't pretend like you didn't know what you were doing tonight," he growled, face only inches from yours now.

"I d-don't know what you m-mean," you stuttered, your body trembling hard now, your chest rising and falling fast as your breaths became almost hyperventilation.

"Coming to my last game? The most important game all season? Distracting me on the one day I needed to be perfect??"

"I had no idea, I-"

"You love to act all innocent, don't you?" he said, looking down at your outfit, something he'd seen so many freshman girls wearing.

"I'm not trying to," you responded, your blood pumping through you fast, your body alight with adrenaline. You tried wrenching your hands free; you felt strong, but it was no match for his strength, and he only doubled down on his grip, nearly crushing your wrist bones. "Ow, ow," you cried, trying to use your body weight to your advantage, only hurting yourself in the process.

"I bet that's turning you on, isn't it?" he spit, running his free hand over your parted lips, your eyes wide and your whole body cowering from him.

"N-no, not at all," you all but whispered, trying to steady your breathing.

"You're not a good liar, you know," he growled, face closer and closer to yours, before his lips smashed over yours and he fully crushed you against the hard bark of the tree, ravaging you.

Your breath was knocked from your throat in an instant; your body was tingling with excitement, every bit of you so happy that he'd finally broke, finally taken matters into his own hand. You hated to be the one responsible; you liked that this was his fault, that whatever messed up shit was about to unfold was his responsibility. You continued to twist and pull at him, but only enough to egg him on more; really you wanted this, your thin shorts already soaked, your hips bucking against his thigh that was pressed between your legs.

"See, I knew you liked it," he said, pulling back harshly, biting at your bottom lip. You let out a squeal of pleasure at that; it was hard enough that now you tasted blood, and the sharp metallic taste was making your head spin even more. You had no words to retaliate with; he chuckled in knowing he'd won, spinning you around and pulling at your shorts, pushing them down your legs just far enough to see your flushed pussy glistening at him, barely illuminated.

"Wait, not out here, they can all see-"

You were cut off by his cock slamming into you, the feeling more painful that pleasurable at first, and you let out a guttural scream, Yunho's hand coming up to cover your mouth as he pulled back and pounded into you slowly again.

"I know what you did with that professor, doll. I know you like when people are watching," he growled in your ear, hips slamming into yours repeatedly, your cunt struggling to adjust to the size of him. He was somehow bigger than that dildo you'd been using; how you were taking him without any warm up you had no idea. Your wetness was no doubt helping, but the severity of the feeling was leaving you almost limp against the tree, as you clung on to the bark for dear life and tried with your might not to collapse.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted behind you, hand still on your mouth, the other pushing on your back and holding you against the tree in front of you. It was only another few strokes and you were coming undone; squeezing down on him sharply, your legs shaking and making it even harder to stand. The pain inside was now met with a sweet warmth, your whole body erupting in shakiness as the pleasure rolled through you. Your eyes rolled back, and then closed; you forgot entirely where you were in the darkness as he fucked you to that pleasure again, this time his hot load filling you, trailing down your legs after he'd pulled out.

He scooped you up as you started to collapse, your hands and face scratched from the tree bark, your shorts completely and obviously stained. You were slack against him, your head resting against his shoulder as he carried you bridal style; only a few more steps and he was lowering you into his car, driving you both back to your dorm. Again he carried you upstairs; it was totally empty, thankfully, for everyone was still at the frat party down the road. He cleaned you up in the bathroom, put a bandaid over a particularly bad cut on your left hand. You'd had to respond to some very worried texts from your two friends, assuring them you were home and fine; you knew that there'd be far more explaining to do the next few days.

You fell asleep as he cradled you in his bed; you felt at peace, finally seeing the way he kept things, feeling like you were stepping into a part of his mind and getting to have a look around. Calm, you felt so calm that night, finally; you were quite sad now that he'd be leaving so soon, and had a sinking feeling that you'd never meet someone who understood your fantasies as much as he did.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #yunho x reader #yunho smut #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez yunho #jeong yunho #dark fic

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